None But You, Part Two
by HardlyFatal
Summary: Seven years after Jon and Dany parted, they find their worlds colliding once more, but a promise made to save them ends up keeping them apart. No longer the people they used to be, their only way of communicating hidden in the letters of others, they must decide if they are still in love... or have fallen for a second time. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** I'm not going to explain too much just yet- I want you to have a read, first, and see how much of it become self-explanatory as you go along. But if you have any questions about what's happening, please ask them in a review and I'll address them in the author's note for the next chapter.

Be it known that Brienne's father has died by now, and she is the Countess of Tarth in her own right. Dany has continued to live at Casterly Rock, with periodic visits to Tarth. Jaime has been stationed at Tyrosh, also with periodic visits to Tarth.

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seven years later

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Sunday, 2 January 1813

Astapor, The Gods Only Know Where, Essos

My Dearest Fiancée,

I hope this letter finds you well. Apologies for the delay since my last; did I send it from Volantis or New Ghis? These cities are all blurring together, I'm afraid. I haven't been able to tell one from the next since Lys.

I have just arrived at my deployment in Yunkai. I had been looking forward to enjoying some balmy heat, after a chilly and damp winter in Pentos. What a fool I was; in this part of the world, there is nothing but dry, choking red dust that sneaks it way into everything. And I do mean everything, wench.

(There, have I got you blushing yet?)

The voyage from New Ghis was dull and cramped, since they have put us on ever-smaller ships each time we reach another port. I half expect to have to row myself into Meereen on a dinghy when we deploy for that godsforsaken city in a few months.

You may find it of interest to know that my second-in-command here is someone already of our acquaintance, the newly-promoted Captain Jon Snow. Perhaps you would be so kind as to mention such to our dear mutual friend, who might find it of interest?

Captain Snow remains as hale and hearty as ever, and is not much changed from when we knew him during our stay at Highgarden, though he has since acquired some very manly facial scars that somehow do not deter the attention of various of the camp followers who will persist in trying to gain his favor. However, I have yet to notice him availing himself of their charms, and doubt I will, for he declares himself very particular; there is a very narrow set of characteristics he will accept in a woman, or so he says.

He had already heard of our engagement, my dear, but was very surprised to learn of its duration. How long has it been now? Six years? Seven? I confess, the years float by, unnoticed, as if upon a sea of bliss, since the happy day our hearts and hopes joined as one.

I explained how we are in no rush, content to wait until such time as all circumstances align for the best possible outcome. Captain Snow commends us on our patience, for he doubts he would be able to endure such a delay, were union with his beloved hover within his grasp.

He may have a point, my darling, because few days pass without me longing for you. It must be love, wench, because most of the time, said longing is for us to share a meal or walk in a garden rather to engage in any of the more licentious activities you have, with your maidenly sensibilities, thus far refused to grant me.

I will end this letter on that wistful note, and remind you that I eagerly await any and all missives from you, no matter how mundane or boring you might think they be.

Ever and eternally yours,

Major Lord Jaime Lannister

P.S. Send socks. You wouldn't believe how quickly one goes through socks, here.

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Tuesday, 26 January 1813

Casterly Rock, Westerlands, Westeros

Dear Brienne,

Enclosed is a copy of Jaime's latest letter. As always, the original is on its way to you via regular post. Forgive the smallness of my writing (there is much to say and little room on a raven's parchment to fit it all) and also the delay in forwarding this to you. My last month has been a difficult one.

Viserys has died, and almost took me with him. How he contracted such a virulent lung ailment, I will never know, but he permitted no one else to tend him until I fell ill also. Lord Tyrion and His Grace, Lord Tywin, were all things solicitous, and spared no expense in providing for our care, but my brother was not to rally, and passed from this world on 15 January.

Once Viserys succumbed, I began to accept my own death, as well, feeling my life devoid of purpose or point. I have carried on so long for Viserys' sake only, since we left Highgarden. Even my mission to help you by posing as Jaime's affianced wife, which you know is a labor I gladly undertake for love of you both, did not inspire me to fight the sickness that ravaged me. I had become certain that Jon was dead, and with Viserys gone as well, what more reason was there for me keep on?

On what I thought would be my last day, Jaime's letter arrived, and I saw proof at last that the gods have not forsaken me after all: Jon is still alive. Over seven years since he left Highgarden, not a word of news about him in all that time, and now, to have assurance that he is well… I have not stopped weeping for a moment since Tyrion read the letter to me, even as I grow stronger each day, bolstered by the joy this knowledge has brought me.

Every beat of my heart proclaims _he is alive, he is alive, he is alive._ My anguish since our parting has turned to relief, and fear as well, for Essos is still very dangerous, though the conflict there is all over but for the plundering. I know you share my fear, for Jaime is in the thick of it, as well. But take courage, my friend, for my dear fiancé lives a charmed life and will return, perhaps a bit bruised but still as wholly his unique self, and still as wholly _yours_ , as ever.

I pray that Jaime's uncanny luck is enough to encompass Jon, and keep him safe, as well. Could it be at all possible, Brienne, that Jon might still care for me? After so brief a courtship, and so much time and distance? If so, is it not likely that he recalls the Dany from the idyllic situation in which we found ourselves, the Dany who no longer exists, but has been replaced by the sad and hollow woman I have become since our parting? I veer wildly between hope and despair.

Send your response by raven, as well, so I can reply to Jaime with best speed.

Your loving friend,

Princess Daenerys Targaryen

P.S. I have denuded the entirety of Casterly Rock of its socks, and have sent to Lannisport for more. I intend to send Jaime no fewer than 200 pairs and have enlisted Tyrion's assistance to arrange the shipping of such a sizeable parcel. He agrees with me that the joke of it will entertain and lift his brother's spirits. Jaime's service in the army is done as much for myself, to spare me the need to marry, as for himself and you, and we must keep all of him healthy, even his feet, must we not?

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Monday, 1 February 1813

Evenfall Hall, Tarth, Westeros

Dearest Dany,

Enclosed find the text you may copy for your response to Jaime's letter. It is so difficult to write in a way that makes it (hopefully) clear to a knowing reader which of us is referred to, without alerting those who monitor the officers' correspondence for revelation of military secrets. I ask you to make clarifications as you see fit, should I fumble my words and confuse.

How dismayed I was to hear of your illness, and the passing of your brother! I grieve for your loss, and chafe at being so far away when I might have tended to you, and kept your spirits up so you did not fall into such despondency. But such inspiration was provided, it would seem, by a divine hand.

Your Jon Snow has survived against all odds, and thrived besides! Surely your prayers have been heard and answered? I have been telling you for years that you must have faith and patience. Be aware that I am feeling very smug, indeed, about having been proven correct yet again. I have congratulated myself for my wisdom and foresight no fewer than three times so far while writing this letter, in fact.

There can no doubt that Captain Snow still esteems you, despite how you may have changed in the interim (as we all have) for he came to love you for your core attributes of loyalty, compassion, sacrifice, and bravery, and those you still have in abundance, my dear.

You must pay me a visit as soon as you are able. Casterly's damp stone and cold winds are sure to defeat your body's attempts to recuperate. Tarth's warm climate will see you better in a trice. Please say you will come!

Ever your grateful friend,

Brienne, Countess of Tarth

P.S. Jaime will laugh for days at receiving 200 pairs of socks. I only wish we could send 300, and make him laugh for a full week. I am terrified for him, Dany. Ever since we learned he would be transferred from Pentos to the theater of operations in Ghiscar, my entire body aches with fear and longing. I have newfound sympathy for what you have endured without Captain Snow all this time. Your fortitude inspires me, as always.

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Saturday, 6 February 1813

Casterly Rock, Westerlands, Westeros

To My Adored Fiancé,

How pleased I was to receive your letter! I am glad you arrived safely in Astapor. Would you be so kind as to provide a more complete description of its appearance? And feel free to omit anything about uncomfortable locations upon your person the local environment might insinuate itself, if you please.

I was very much affected to learn the identity of your second-in-command, but no more than our friend, who was so taken aback that she was quite overcome for several days. She begs you, through me, to communicate to Captain Snow her fondest hopes for his continued health and safety, for which she has prayed without cease since last they saw each other.

It saddens me to share with you the death of my brother. Viserys had been unwell for a brief while, and at one point in recent weeks I had feared that I might also succumb to his malady, so fragile of spirit have I felt since the departure of my most beloved from my side, since which feels like the better part of a decade. However, your letter arrived just in time, and its happy content gave me the strength to rally from my illness as nothing else might have done.

I improve more each day, and when I feel well enough, will be traveling to spend a prolonged visit with our close friend, which I anticipate very happily, for if I cannot have you nearby, my love, she is almost as dear to me and helps make the empty days without you pass more quickly.

Your mention of the captain's continence regarding the camp followers has me intrigued. Of what does his 'very narrow set of characteristics' consist? If you provide me with a list of them, I will consider if any women of my acquaintance possess them. I recall Captain Snow fondly, and would dearly like to see him happy with a wife who esteems him as highly as he deserves.

Yours in heart and soul,

Princess Daenerys Targaryen

P.S. I have enclosed every sock to be found in Casterly Rock _and_ Lannisport. Your father and brother are both extremely vexed with me, for they shall go barefoot while the maids and I knit our fingers to the bone to create more for them. I tell them that the needs of our soldiers take precedence over those of mere civilians, but they remain unsympathetic. Never fear, I am steadfast in my commitment to ensure you remain free of trench foot.

P.P.S. It has been seven years, four months, two weeks, and three days since we became engaged. For shame, ser, that you do not recall such an important date!

P.P.P.S. How I wish I were able to see your faces when you received such a large box, and then when it was opened and you saw its contents! I and our dear friend have been giggling foolishly over your reactions since I conceived of the idea.

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Friday, 19 February 1813

The Saucy Vixen, Slaver's Bay

Dear Robb,

Have you ever found that your life was comfortably stagnant, the same exact thing day after day, and then in quick succession, many enormous changes came upon you, so rapidly you could scarcely keep up and were sent reeling? The last seven years has been such for me. Despite the frequent change of venues demanded by the military, my life had acquired a pleasant sameness for so long: rise in the morning, be a soldier, sleep at night. It brought me a much-needed peace, and kept my mind off matters that, when brooded upon, cause my outlook to darken.

Then in the past year I lost Ghost, followed soon by the attack upon Major Mormont, and having to track down the mutineers who killed him. It gave me no satisfaction to dispatch them, even with the fine sword Mormont gave me before he succumbed to his wounds. After that came my promotion, with many new duties and responsibilities, and an entire regiment of men looking to me for direction until the assignment of Mormont's replacement. Still, life settled into a different, but similar, familiarity.

Then Mormont's replacement arrived: Jaime Lannister, Robb! You more than anyone are aware of the reason his presence would be unbearable. I felt sure his appointment as my commanding officer was the cruelest joke the gods ever played upon a man. Maintaining a respectful demeanor took everything in me, but he is perceptive, for all he acts the fool, and hastened to defuse the tension between us with an explanation that is as mad as it is clever.

I cannot reveal it to you in this letter, since I have no expectation of privacy, but I will say that Major Lannister is indeed promised to she who holds his heart, and together they maintain a close relationship with a very dear mutual friend for whom I had, in the past, harbored some fond hopes.

Lannister assures me that this friend's affections have remained fixed upon me, despite the time and distance fallen between us. I had not dared to hope it might be the case, but his fiancée responded to his letter and included such warm tidings from our dear friend that I am compelled to believe it is true.

This friend has suffered some difficulties in recent days. Might I prevail upon you to ensure she has all she might require? Please address yourself to Princess Daenerys Targaryen, who currently resides at Casterly Rock and will direct your letter to its proper recipient.

With gratitude, your brother,

Captain Jon Snow

P.S. We have been deployed to Yunkai and are in transit. Thus I have written this letter while on the deck of The Saucy Vixen (who names these ships? I fear it is someone with the sensibilities of Tyrion Lannister) and a gull felt the urgent need to relieve himself in my near vicinity. That white spot at the bottom of the page is his memento of our voyage. It would not come off despite my best attempts to clean it, and I have no blank parchment left to rewrite this. You will just have to suffer through a little bird shit, brother.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Ghost has died, alas, but he was almost 15 years old. Canids do not have human-length lifespans :(

 **Also, just to clarify for those of you for whom the epistolary (letter-writing) format is a problem:** this story won't be for you, friends, because the whoooooooole thing is letters. Cleverly-written and fun to decypher re: who's writing what to whom, one hopes, but if that's not your cup of tea, you might want to look elsewhere for your Regency-era Jon/Dany and Jaime/Brienne fix.

 **Also, just to clarify to those of you for whom the art of writing constructive or even just polite criticism is a challenge:** Please expect a response in the same tone with which you write to me. If you use words like 'stupid', you can be assured that I will not be very mannerly in expressing my 'appreciation' of your review. I have no problem with you disliking my writing, the epistolary format, or anything else, but if you can't express it without insulting me, and can't cope when I offer you a tacit encouragement to not let the door hit you where the good Lord split you, it might be best to keep your reviews to yourself.

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Thursday, 25 February 1813

Yunkai, No Damned Idea, Essos

Queen of My Heart,

The quantity of socks you so-kindly sent was such an abundance that I felt duty-bound to share it with various of my men who had need of them. Please be aware that the men of the 13th Light Dragoon have begun singing your praises in a manner more suited to the Maiden or the Mother than a mere mortal woman.

…though you have never been a _mere_ anything, have you, my love? I think constantly of all of your excellent traits. When next you find yourself on our good friend's island home, I beg you to aim a spy-glass eastward one clear night. You will see a warm red glow in the far distance; that is my heart, kindled with admiration for you.

Also afire with admiration is Captain Snow, who was as amazed as I at the sheer number of socks you provided. He actually smiled, my dear, and I'm sure you recall how rare an event that is. He acquired quite a few pairs for his own use, and jealously guards them from those who would poach his bounty.

We were both sorry to hear of the passing of your brother, and hope you do well in recovering from your sad loss. Captain Snow was particularly gratified and humbled that any mention of him might have been able to affect your improvement. We are concerned about your health, however, and beg you to take best care of yourself. Pray do not exhaust yourself with the acquisition of socks on our behalf. We would gladly suffer trench foot if it meant your swifter recovery.

As regards your curiosity of the paragon for whom Captain Snow reserves himself: he tells me his requirements include playing croquet very poorly, the ability to laugh while swimming, and experience at charming a direwolf. I doubt a woman exists who fits such an exacting description, but if you hear of one, do let me know, won't you? I will pass the information on to Captain Snow with all haste.

You, wench, might also be gratified to know that I have devised a way of dealing with the dust that infiltrates my clothing: I have gone native in all but the most formal occasions, garbing myself in the loose Essosi trousers and tunics that are so effective at shielding one's delicate and noble skin from the harsh abrasions of sand and scourings of wind while permitting the dust to sift back out again.

I have even persuaded Captain Snow to indulge with me, and confess myself jealous of how much better he blends in with the local population than I do; apparently, blond hair and green eyes are not much found here. To their loss, I feel.

One of our men, a scoundrel by the name of Bronn, has a deft hand at drawing, and was good enough to do a scribble of myself and the captain heroically posing in our rustic togs, which I have enclosed along with a small bag of the red dust that plagues us without cease. I would hate for you to think my complaints baseless.

Every day without you is a torment. What a fool I was to think the time away from you would pass quickly or easily. I asked Captain Snow how he kept his sanity, fighting so far away for so many years, and his response was that he took comfort in the knowledge that his presence here makes the world a safer place for the one who holds his heart. In the same way, wench, you remain the motivation for every one of my actions.

With endless devotion,

Major Lord Jaime Lannister

P.S. My batman was recently discharged from service in this hellish landscape; having nowhere to go, I have promised him a home and living at Casterly Rock. Like Bronn, he can draw, but has no other particular skills, and his sole characteristic appears to be possession of the most cheerful and earnest disposition of any human I've ever met. He will sail to Lannisport and present himself to you soonish. If there is no place for him there, perhaps our dear friend can think of some position for him on Tarth? His name is Podrick Payne. You won't be able to miss him; just look for the lad with the cow-eyes and massive cheeks.

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Tuesday, 16 March 1813

Casterly Rock, Westerlands, Westeros

Dear Brienne,

It appears I have become the patron saint of hosiery for the 13th Light Dragoons. Not an appellation I ever expected to have, I must say, but one I vastly prefer to, say, the Duchess of the Riverlands. Though a still better title would be "Mrs. Snow"…

If Jaime is to believed— and he is many things, our Jaime, but a liar tends not to be one— it appears that Jon might somehow, miraculously, unbelievably, still be fond of me. I will admit that, when I read those lines, I made the most indelicate noise, and then burst into tears. After all these years, Brienne! All these years, and he has been keeping himself for me alone, as I have kept myself for him! Can it be possible?

Am I a fool to hope that our love can be salvaged? I cannot quash my fear that Jaime's wish to be amusing has him using words and phrasings that give more of an impression of sentiment than Jon might actually feel. How tragic a figure I am, Brienne, to look for any reason besides love in what Jaime has written. After six-and-twenty years of my only value to anyone (with very few exceptions such as your estimable self) being my blood, how am I to believe that a man could still care for me after I refused him so cruelly, nearly eight years ago?

Ah, I have no right to trouble you with my misgivings. You have spent the same period suffering just as much as I. Though our circumstances are different, our misery remains the same: separated from the men we love, kept apart by rank and birth. At least I no longer have to contend with Viserys; you still have the grim task of waiting for Lord Tywin to shuffle off this mortal coil.

Tyrion keeps saying we should "find a way to kill the daft bugger". Failing the stomach to take an active role and push him into the path of a runaway carriage, Tyrion has begun encouraging the cook to serve the most rich and fatty meals possible in hopes of triggering in Sir Tywin a fatal case of gout.

Enclosed with Jaime's letter are the drawing and the dust mentioned within it. They look very handsome, do they not, despite the strangeness of the clothes? I wonder what the women wear, and if they might be able to bring some garments home to us when they finally return.

The mentioned Podrick Payne has arrived; he is indeed a cheerful sort, and I have had him employ his artistic talent to copy the drawing most faithfully for my own purposes. I examined the dust, Brienne; it is so fine, and sifts through cloth, and clings viciously, quite resistant to washing off. I can only imagine the discomfort they must feel, to have it coat them at all times. An ignoble but still very real aspect of warfare: the incessant, unavoidable annoyance. It might well wear down a soul far before the inhumanity of killing and the terror of dodging one's own death.

Your devoted friend,

Princess Daenerys Targaryen

P.S. I thought it would be nice to send drawings of us back to them, in return. When you reply, if you can find someone to create a simple portrait of you, send it along so I may include it in my next letter.

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Saturday, 20 March 1813

Evenfall Hall, Tarth, Westeros

Dear Dany,

I think it far more likely that Jaime is using humor as a way of indicating that the reality of the situation is far more impassioned than he is able to reveal, given the subterfuge in which we must engage to keep our little plot from being discovered by those who monitor the military mail.

Thus when Jaime writes "Captain Snow was particularly gratified and humbled that any mention of him might be able to affect your improvement" I believe what he means is "Captain Snow, appalled to hear of your illness, was brought to his knees in amazement and gratitude that his mere mention rallied your will to live". I know it can be confusing to pick out the truth of the messages we must all write back and forth, but stay constant, my dear. The result will be worth the struggle.

Think how happy you have felt since learning that Captain Snow is still alive, and then again to read that he wants no other but you. Think how happy you will be when he is finally home and safe. Think how happy you will be when we can all give up this pretense, when Jaime is free to marry me and you, your captain. And then the day you wed, and when your first child is born. You must live for these moments in the future, Dany. If you lose sight of them, you will become mired in despair.

With great affection,

Lady Brienne, Countess of Tarth

P.S. How fare your plans to pay me a visit? Have you decided on a sea voyage or shall it be the Gold Road to Storm's End for you? Either way, I welcome you with all the warmth and fondness you know I feel for you. You will be right as rain, once you are here.

P.P.S. Apparently the only person on this island with any skill at drawing whatsoever is my head laundress, and a fine job she has done of representing me: my unfortunate face is rendered with painfully accurate precision. Could the woman not have tried to flatter her lady by drawing me at least a _little_ less ugly?

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Tuesday, 16 March 1813

Winterfell, The North, Westeros

Dear Princess Daenerys,

Please pardon my presumption in writing to you. It has been many years since last we have spoken, I know, but recent events have awakened a desire to renew my acquaintance with you. I am happy to share that my brother, Captain Jon Snow, continues to do well in his career, despite being unfortunately stationed far from home. In fact, recent news has rendered his spirits nearly as high as they had been when last we all saw each other.

Word has reached us of your terrible loss. Please accept the deepest sympathies of House Stark in your time of grief. If there is anything I can do to lessen your burden, I beg you not to hesitate to make mention of it. Every resource we have is at your disposal, as I consider you a sister, for reasons of which I am sure you are aware.

I shall close this letter with a warm invitation for you to visit Winterfell at your leisure. My wife, Jeyne, and I would be happy to renew our friendship with you, as would my sister, Sansa. We have all retained happy memories of Highgarden, and often hoped they might be replicated at some point. My parents and other siblings would likewise welcome you as a member of our family, should you decide to make the journey north.

Your servant,

Robb Stark, Earl of Winterfell


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** Thank you, everyone, for your kind comments. I'm so happy you're enjoying the story! After this, I really should write something original, so I can sell it, but... I have this idea for a Jon/Dany like Downton Abbey, you know? So I'm all conflicted n' shit.

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Thursday, 15 April 1813

Yunkai, The Middle of Nowhere, Essos

My Dearest Love,

It is long past time when I ought to have received your response to my last letter, but I have received nothing. This could, of course, be due to the sporadic and, frankly, haphazard postal delivery service we must tolerate in His Majesty's army. Your letter might have simply gone astray.

However, in view of what you have mentioned of your health, I confess that the delay in hearing from you has worried me. I beg you to respond to me at your soonest convenience, or if you are unable, have Tyrion or even— yes, this is how desperate I am to hear from you— His Grace my father act as your hand if you cannot pen the words yourself. Or perhaps our dear friend could dash off a brief line or two, just to settle my mind.

Apprehensive but eager and always, always yours,

Major Lord Jaime Lannister

P.S. I love and think of you endlessly, wench.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** Ghost never sired any pups, but Greywind did. His daughter, Greymist, is now Robb's direwolf.

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Friday, 30 April 1813

Evenfall Hall, Tarth, Stormlands, Westeros

Dear Dany and Tyrion,

I do not know which of you I am more angry at: Dany, you know better than to agree to every ludicrous scheme presented to you— has being engaged to Jaime for over seven years taught you nothing?— but Tyrion, you should not have asked her in the first place. You were perfectly aware she would never refuse you, and look what happened.

Feel lucky that Tarth has been hammered, of late, by pirates and thus I cannot spare the time to come to Casterly Rock and chastise you both in person. This island does not defend itself, unfortunately. And yes, unlike you two dunderheads, I take every precaution and never act without serious prior consideration.

Also unlike you two dunderheads, I have given my people instructions to apprise you of my situation in the event I am unable to write you myself, so that you don't go weeks without communication, wondering if catastrophe has befallen me. I've no doubt Jaime and Captain Snow have been frantic, and with good reason, it turned out. You should be ashamed of yourselves.

I shall expect weekly missives from you, ser and madam, apprising me of your status or else pirates be damned: I will present myself unannounced on the Lannister doorstep just like the newest residents of Casterly Rock. And I promise you, my mood shall not be half so amiable as theirs was upon arrival.

Enclosed is the text of the letter you may recopy to Jaime. He probably thinks Tarth overrun by pirates, and me ravished and killed.

In high dudgeon,

Brienne, Countess of Tarth

P.S. Give said new residents my regards, and also my sympathies for having to deal with you. I wish them the best of luck in holding their tempers when you vex them, which I've no doubt shall be on a nigh-daily basis.

P.P.S. Before you protest that your worries of my preoccupation with defending Tarth against the pirates rendered your rationale valid, I provide the counter-argument that I could have easily hired a captain-at-arms to perform the task in my place while I was in Casterly Rock, had I been given the chance.

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Tuesday, 4 May 1813

Casterly Rock, Westerlands, Westeros

Dear Jaime,

Sorry, it's only me. Apologies for the lengthy gap in communication. I take full responsibility.

Dany has been unwell again. You know how delicate she has been since Highgarden, and Viserys certainly did nothing to ease her burdens, the twat. Her endurance was truly at its lowest ebb when he died, and I felt certain we would lose her, as well. Your timely letter— most particularly the revelation within— was all that lifted her from danger, and I attribute it entirely with saving her life.

Ever since then, she has been nearly vibrating with excitement, despite my warnings that she must rest and recoup her health slowly. There was that business with the socks, and as always she and the Countess of Tarth have been feverishly exchanging letters, the details of which they refuse to share with me, but which are keeping our ravens exhausted from incessant cross-continental dashes. Consequently, when this latest event occurred, it took very little for her depleted stamina to fail her once more.

"This latest event" being the fact that Father has died. It was peaceful and painless, the maesters assure us. A disappointment, to be sure, but we must content ourselves with the knowledge that he is at this very moment being mercilessly prodded by a legion of the Stranger's most persistent demons and their pointiest pitchforks.

With Father gone, I have been made to take his place, at least until a new Hand is named, and ever since have been besieged with the matters of the entire kingdom. With myself so occupied, I asked Dany to take upon herself the governing of the Westerlands. She agreed happily, which I thought a kindness at first.

At second glance, however, I should have realized it was beyond her endurance so soon after her illness, especially after losing Father, who for some reason she actually liked and counted as a paternal figure of sorts. Poor orphan; she doesn't realize what a wretched parent he was, having no basis of comparison.

I take all blame for her relapse. Be aware that you could not possibly berate me more harshly for this oversight on my part than I do myself. Fortunately, I now have a secret weapon on my side, this time, to make Dany comply when she tries to overexert herself: I simply ask, "Would your beloved wish you to do this? Or would he want you to rest?" She subsides instantly. It is magical. I wish I had known of it years ago; think how many rows we could have settled, so much more easily!

Since Dany cannot govern the Westerlands alone, and I am too busy with the rest of the kingdom, she had a novel idea: ask someone else to do it. We both initially thought of Brienne, who would of course excel at it as she does everything else, but it is pirate season and, knowing how busy she is kept in leading Tarth's defense against them, Dany and I agreed it would not be fair to ask it of her.

(Brienne has since learned of our folly and raked us over every coal in Westeros, insisting she could have overseen both Tarth _and_ the Westerlands with one hand tied behind her capable back. I have no doubt this is true, and have apologized with all the sincerity of which I am capable, but she has yet to forgive me. I live in hope that you will have better luck at persuading her. I am also considering suggesting to His Majesty that Brienne be named as new Hand because the gods know she could do it better than anyone else. Don't shout, Jaime; it would give her something to occupy her time so she doesn't worry herself into a nervous state over her beloved being so far away, in such danger.)

Having eliminated Brienne for the role, Dany's next suggestion was to contact, of all people, Robb Stark. It seems he offered his assistance to her in recent days, for reasons I simply can't imagine. Intriguing, don't you agree? Hm. In any case, together, Dany and I wrote to ask his advice on how to proceed, expecting him to merely suggest a reliable steward to whom we could entrust the duchy.

His response, however, was to pack up his wife and daughter and son and present himself at Casterly Rock, intent upon doing the job his own self. He insists _we_ are doing _him_ the favor, as it gets his little family out from under the thumb of his so-formidable mother, who seems to have very forceful views about how the children must be reared, and which have been vexing poor Jeyne of late, especially now that the heir has been born.

Thus the Westerlands are currently being run by Robb Stark, with his wife serving as lady of the manor, and Dany to advise them as needed. Who could ever have imagined lions and wolves striving together in harmony? There are wolf puppies all over the place, Stark and dire both, making this old pile of stones very merry indeed. Father would spin in his grave like a lathe, which makes every bit of Brienne's scolding so very, very, very worth it.

The two ladies— and a nurse, of course— have been sharing mothering duties, as well. It will come as no surprise to you that Dany is very fond of the children, and lavishes them with affection. She remarks often how closely little Jon resembles his namesake, in fact, and I often find her watching him with an expression so tender that it quite takes my breath away.

With Father gone, I have petitioned the Lord Commander for an early curtailment of your commission. We can't have a duke risking his life fighting Dothraki madmen in the mud flats of Essos, can we? Hurry home.

Your brother,

Lord Tyrion Lannister, Acting Hand of the King

P.S. Your batman has arrived. I have given him to Dany, and taught him the trick of how to make her behave. He, too, marvels at its efficacy, though he feels very guilty using it. Never fear, I shall beat that out of him with all haste.

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Tuesday, 4 May 1813

Casterly Rock, Westerlands, Westeros

Dear Jon,

Things went very quickly or I'd have written you sooner. Having learned that Lord Tyrion and Her Highness, Princess Daenerys, are at this moment writing letters to His Grace, Major Lord Jaime, I thought I would add my own missive to you in their packet.

You are doubtless wondering why I am at Casterly Rock and have been taken to the bosom of House Lannister. It happens that Mother has been even more active and enthusiastic in offering the benefit of her wisdom and experience in parenting to Jeyne since Jon was born than she was after Eddara's birth. As you can imagine, this has not been well-received by my wife, and we had been in the throes of deciding to which of the North's properties we could remove ourselves, in the interest of familial harmony.

Then, as if by providence, Tyrion and Her Highness wrote to me. His Grace, Lord Tywin Lannister, has passed away and Tyrion requested my advice in selecting a steward to govern the Westerlands. Thus with an eye toward preserving my marriage I decided that I myself would act as the desired steward, instead of recommending someone else. Jeyne agreed right away, and we left immediately, arriving scarcely two weeks later.

I did not have the pleasure of knowing His Grace well, but it seems clear he was a man whom one either loved or loathed, with no middle ground between the two. Tyrion is of the latter opinion, and assures me that Major Lord Jaime shares his less-than-favorable view of their father. Her Highness, however, had been fond of His Grace and is saddened by his loss. Tyrion and I are agreed that, if Her Highness was able to find something in His Grace of which to be fond, she will adore Father, who as we know is all things admirable.

I had thought the Lannisters could not possible be more mad than the Starks, but they are, just in their own unique way. Tyrion is a fey creature, staggering of intellect if not of stature, but with a dark wit that asserts itself at odd times. I have not yet had the honor of spending much time with Her Grace, Lady Cersei Baratheon nor her children beyond what brief company we kept at Highgarden, but cryptic words on Tyrion's part hint at a paucity of fraternal affection between the sons and the daughter.

Her Highness remains just as pleasant as she was when we first met her, but has gained an air of melancholy that I am given to understand has been a characteristic since being parted from her beloved. However, she remains all things gracious and has welcomed us with every evidence of affection. Her Highness honors us by paying close attention to Eddara and Jon, caring for them as affectionately as any mother might. In recent years, she had come to believe she would never have children, convinced she and her love would never be reunited, but events of late have renewed her hopes of motherhood.

I shall close by assuring you of our continued wishes for your health and safety. Eddara requests I tell her Uncle Jon to be careful. I join my wishes to hers: there are several here who would grieve most deeply for you, and another who might not survive your loss.

Your brother,

Robb Stark, Earl of Winterfell

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Tuesday, 4 May 1813

Casterly Rock, Westerlands, Westeros

My Most Beloved Fiancé,

Pray forgive the delay in responding. I am aware that Tyrion has written a very fanciful description of the last few months here at Casterly Rock. I beg you to only believe half of it. Perhaps just a third. He embellishes most shamefully, as I do not need to tell you, who know him best.

It is true I was a bit fatigued, and I do not feel eager to encounter our dear friend's ire when next I see her— she is _very adamant_ about how she ought to have been asked to perform the role when neither Tyrion nor I could— but everything has resolved quite satisfactorily. Tyrion has no business carrying on in a way sure to upset you, and you can be sure I am just as severe with him as our dear friend is with both of us. You have enough to worry about without believing me on the precipice of death.

Lord Robb and Lady Jeyne and little Eddara and Jon have been a surprising but delightful addition to our household. Please convey to Captain Snow the profound appreciation I feel for his consideration, in asking His Excellency to make himself available for my assistance. My regard for the captain has but grown since Highgarden, and I anticipate with great eagerness the time when we might reacquaint ourselves with each other.

Regarding your father's death: being aware of the tumultuous relationship you had with him, I know you will feel conflicted about his passing. I beg you not to chastise yourself too severely if you do not grieve as deeply as a 'good' son ought— you are the best of sons, as is Tyrion; I daresay you are _better_ sons than His Grace might have deserved, in fact.

Whatever his sins, he has gone on to his reward, and the obstacle he presented to our happiness has now departed. You can come home when your commission ends, and the wedding we have all so dearly anticipated can take place. Excitement for the day I become your wife makes me giddy as a child, which I know will make you laugh to think of, since I am not a giddy type of woman, and it looks peculiar on me. Our dear friend teases me endlessly about it, but my mood is so elevated at the prospect of being your duchess at long last that it does not bother me, nor does anything else. My joy has rendered me impervious to any verbal sling or arrow.

The drawing you enclosed of yourself and Captain Snow in local garb has become my most precious belonging ever since its receipt. It happens that your former batman— and my newest footman— Podrick Payne has some nice ability at drawing as well, and was kind enough to make a faithful copy of it for our dear mutual friend, who was in raptures to see it. We have both of us enclosed our drawings in glass, to better protect and preserve the fragile paper, and look upon them many times each day.

I note you failed to include more description of Yunkai and its environs in your last letter. Be so kind as to correct that oversight, won't you, dear ser? I have trouble conceptualizing you without some idea of setting, and 'lots of red dust' does not lend itself to accurate imaginings, I fear.

With all the love I can express,

Princess Daenerys Targaryen

P.S. Included with this letter is a drawing of myself, courtesy of dear Podrick, as well as one of our friend as done by a servant, one of her laundresses, I believe she mentioned. Talent can appear in the most unlikely places, can it not? I include the drawing of our friend in the interest of keeping her image fresh in your mind, since she is dear to you as well, and if you wished to show it to various other of our mutual acquaintances, I am certain our friend would not object to such.


	5. Chapter 5

Monday, 5 July 1813

Casterly Rock, Westerlands, Westeros

My Most Dear Jaime,

You are usually very prompt in responding to my letters, so lacking any response to the last one has me gravely concerned. Our dear friend and I are verging on panic. Please, please, send us even a single line to indicate you are well. I can scarcely breathe for worry about you.

With all my love and devotion,

Princess Daenerys Targaryen

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Thursday, 8 July 1813

King's Landing, Crownlands, Westeros

Lord Commander,

It appears I did not make myself clear enough. When I requested information about my brother's whereabouts, I was not asking for a vague reply about him being "most assuredly in the environs of the Ghiscari peninsula". I was, instead, asking for the exact latitude and longitude at which he could be located.

Your recalcitrance in providing them leads me to believe that Jaime is missing in action. How is this possible? He's a duke, by all the gods— he cannot simply be missing. The war is over, ser, or had you not realized? There ought not to be any more hostile movements or incursions; our men should be in the process of shuttling home, not deployed on last-minute incursions for gods-know which arcane reasons you military types use to justify your atrocities.

I expect an actually informative response via raven within a sennight. And it had better be a good one; you do not want my future goodsister writing you as well. She can commit assault and battery with a quill like no one I've ever seen, and I include my own esteemed self in that company.

With all due respect (I'm sure you can figure out for yourself exactly how much that is),

Lord Tyrion Lannister, Acting Hand of the King

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Wednesday, 14 July 1813

Westeros Forward Command, Pentos, Essos

Lord Tyrion,

I must protest the informality and blatant rudeness of your last letter. I am not only Lord Commander of His Majesty's military forces but a marquess in my own right; I outrank you a dozen different ways. I insist you address me with the deference owed me as a peer and soldier of high consequence.

It may surprise you to learn that I am quite aware of the cessation of hostilities in Essos, since I am the one who initiated and executed the order for it. Since you require tedious amounts of detail, rather than permitting a generality to suffice, do me the honor to read the following.

The information I have received thus far is that a lingering contingent of Dothraki guerrillas, in rebellion against the recent treaty, attacked His Grace's camp and set most of it alight. With the loss of the camp, a high number of dead, and the harsh living conditions inherent in that area of the world, the company has been separated into many smaller groups in the interest of survival, and a comprehensive accounting of men is not possible at this time.

Be assured that steps are being taken to ascertain His Grace's location. Supplies and search teams have been dispatched, and a number of men have been retrieved already. Those who have had to go farther afield for food, shelter, and water will take longer to find.

I have had the honor of receiving a letter from Her Highness already— my arse is still bleeding from the chewing-out she gave it, thank you very much— as well as missives from the Earl of Winterfell, the Countess of Tarth, and even the ruddy Duke of the North. I understand why Lady Tarth would write; her long-standing friendship with your family is well-known. But why in the name of all that is holy am I being harassed by Starks?

In service to the crown— not its Hand,

Field Marshall Randyll Tarly, Marquess of Hornhill

Lord Commander of His Majesty's Forces

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Tuesday, 20 July 1813

King's Landing, Crownlands, Westeros

Tarly,

I understand how a man so critically stupid can be a marquess— damn those pesky rules of inheritance— but how in the name of all the gods were you named Lord Commander? I could do a better job, and I am a notorious coward.

You are being harassed by Starks, you bloody fool, because Jaime's second-in-command is Captain Jon Snow, who you know damned well is Ned Stark's bastard, and a much-loved one, too. You'd better find him and my brother or between the Lannisters and the Starks, your life won't be worth a copper star.

With immense sympathy for the unfortunates to whom you've likely passed down your tragic dimness,

Lord Tyrion Lannister, Acting Hand to the King

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Wednesday, 21 July 1813

Casterly Rock, Westerlands, Westeros

Dear Brienne,

Their camp was attacked, their company disbanded. There are many casualties, it is said. No one knows where they, or anyone else, has gone, though they are searching.

After attaching this message to the raven with my own hands, I will be leaving Casterly Rock to begin my journey to Tarth. We cannot be with Jaime and Jon at this time, but I know the days will pass easier if we have each other.

I shall be taking the land route via the Gold Road as per Tyrion's insistence; he says that should I need a maester's care while I travel, it will be easier to find one than were I aboard a ship, and I must concede his point.

Ravens can be sent to Deep Den, King's Landing, Bronzegate, and Storm's End; I shall check at each for any messages from you. Tyrion has been instructed to send forward anything from Essos to me at those locations, as well.

I know it is that time of year when the pirates begin to harass you again; pray do not risk yourself with any of the dangerous flourishes I know you enjoy so well. Just dispose of them efficiently and move on to the next. If something were to happen to you, I do not know what Jaime would do, once he comes home.

And he will come home, Brienne. So will Jon. They have to come home to us. They must.

With great affection,

Princess Daenerys Targaryen

P.S. Make sure my old crossbow is in good condition, and there are many bolts for it, for I intend to help you with the pirates as I used to when Viserys and I lived with you in our youth. I am quite well and hearty now, and shall be all the moreso when I finally arrive at Evenfall.

P.P.S. Yes, I shall take every caution and precaution— Podrick will accompany me, and a maid, and a half-dozen outriders, and Robb is insisting I bring one of the puppies, and we shall stay at inns instead of camping. If anything befalls me, it will take a concerted effort, and frankly, I am simply not interesting enough to merit the bother.

P.P.P.S. Do not mistake the puppy for some harmless little thing; at only months of age it is already the size of a mastiff. When it is full-grown, it will be as big as a pony. I shall hitch it to a gig and have it take me around for marketing. I cannot wait to terrorize the shopkeepers. (There, have I put a smile on your face?)


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** Thanks for your reviews!

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Thursday, 12 August 1813

King's Landing, Crownlands, Westeros

Dear Brienne,

They found them! Jon and Jaime are alive. The Lord Commander has told Tyrion that, and only that. No one knows anything more. I have just arrived in King's Landing this moment, Tyrion's first words were to tell me our men are alive. I wanted to waste no time writing you, for I know you have been as oppressed by terror and grief as I. As soon as I know anything more, I will send another raven.

I shall spend a few days here with Tyrion before continuing my journey to Tarth, for I have missed him, and also in case more communication arrives regarding our lost soldiers.

In the interest of exercise, I have done quite a bit of walking beside the carriage, when we had need to rest the horses, and am feeling quite fit. Please let me know that no enterprising pirate had had a lucky day and managed to lay you low; you know how I worry, dear.

Fondly,

Princess Daenerys Targaryen

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Saturday, 24 July 1813

Meereen, Lhazar, Essos

Your Highness,

Please forgive my presumption to write to you in place of Major Lannister. I bear the grave news that he has suffered a terrible wound in a recent battle and is no longer able to write you with his own hand, having lost it to a Dothraki's sword several weeks past. He has tried to dictate to me some responses to various points included in your most recent letter, but he has been fevered and much of what he says does not make sense. Or rather it makes even less sense than usual. He can be a very silly man, sometimes, as I'm sure you're well aware.

He begs your forgiveness for the delay in communication. He had been in receipt of your letter— the news of your compromised health was intensely distressing to he who loves you best. He begs you to take utmost care and refrain from any activities that might cause a relapse in exhaustion or weakness— but was unavoidably detained from responding due to an attack upon our camp.

It caused many of us to be separated and go into hiding in villages around Meereen until our injured were well enough to travel again. Our adoption of local costume was instrumental in our survival, and how fortunate I inherited my father's Northern coloring! I was fortunately able to leave our hiding spot for food, medicine, and bandages as needed. It took us some while to make our way back to Meereen since we could only travel at night, and slowly, in deference to wounds incurred.

Perhaps you will be gladdened to know that I personally killed the Dothraki who maimed Major Lannister. I beg you to forgive me a second time, for sharing such a bloodthirsty sentiment, but knowing of the extent of your affections for your fiancé, as well as your own somewhat martial outlook and abilities, I feel certain you will share my compulsion and satisfaction to have avenged the major.

Prior to Major Lannister's injury, he honored me by sharing his eagerness to return to Westeros, his goal of wedding his beloved foremost always in his mind. He appears to view his new position as Duke of the Westerlands as no more valuable than whatever power it gives him to affect your marriage, but I am relieved to be able to employ his name and rank on his behalf in the interest of sending him home from Essos to your devoted arms. It is far easier to make generals and admirals pay attention when a letter is signed by a duke than by a mere captain, and an illegitimate one at that.

Major Lannister has awoken, now, and insists I tell you that he thinks and dreams of you constantly, that the recollection of your astonishing eyes is all that tethers him to this world when he might otherwise have left it, defeated by grief and despair. I have rarely seen a man so ardently attached to the one he loves, and it is edifying to witness it, if slightly sick-making. I beg him daily to keep his expressions of devotion to himself, but so far he remains deaf to my pleas. I cannot much blame him, however, since I have some experience in being gripped by a similar passion, and indeed often find myself at the mercy of certain fond remembrances.

He bids me write of his gratitude for the drawings of you and your dear friend. I also wish to express my admiration for not only the excellent likenesses by their talented artists but the subjects as well. Your dear friend looks quite well, and much happier than the last time I saw her, for which I am very glad. The recollection of that last unmerciful morning has become my most unwelcome memory, and I keenly anticipate a time when I can replace it.

Now Major Lannister is commanding me to include some description of our surroundings, since you (and here I quote him) "have nagged him like a fishwife" to write more about it. Currently we are in a musty-smelling tent of stained canvas that permits no air to flow through it, rendering its interior stuffy beyond endurance, while still encouraging every insect within a league to enter and feast upon us.

The landscape is a barren and bleak one. The ground is very flat for many leagues, and then will rise in a sudden steep mountain striped with red and white clay. There are few trees, fewer bushes, and no flowers. Buildings are constructed of mud bricks made from, yes, the same red dust that plagues us, with slanting walls and flat roofs. There are no coverings over windows, and only occasionally doors fashioned from wood imported at costly expense from other, more forested regions. Every corner is drifted in red dust to the height of a foot or more.

It is beastly hot, and a fierce wind blows without cease. We bathe twice daily but each time the water runs a rusty gray from the dust that, as I believe the major has expressed, gets into every last part of a body. I think I speak for both of us when I say that if we ever see this peninsula again in this or any future lifetime, it will be a millennium too soon.

The inhabitants of the area tend to darkness of skin, hair, and eyes, and as mentioned earlier, I have enjoyed more success than the major in immersing myself among them when such is beneficial to our needs. I am quite brown from the sun, now, and feel certain you would have a hard time recognizing me if I were to present myself in the long robes and turban worn by the Ghiscari and Lhazari men of the area.

With a somewhat effusive, but still richly deserved, amount of fervency and adoration,

Major Lord Jaime Lannister, Duke of the Westerlands

via the hand of

Captain Jon Snow

P.S. Major Lannister wants me to inform you that he does not endorse the extremely amusing parts of this letter that you will be able to tell are my own invention, rather than his, since they invariably use him as their deserving target.

P.P.S. No drawing of us this time, as neither of us are fit to be viewed and indeed our appearances would likely alarm rather than please you. I believe we will have recovered sufficiently by the next letter, so do expect some sketch to be forthcoming. In the meanwhile, we have had Bronn draw himself, which is enclosed. Please be aware that he is only marginally as handsome as represented. We would not like to lose your or our dear friend's affections because your head was turned by a rogue with impossibly good looks (which he does not actually possess).

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Saturday, 14 August 1813

King's Landing, Crownlands, Westeros

Dear Brienne,

Enclosed is a small-copied letter of what I have just received from Jon, forwarded on from Casterly Rock by Robb. Knowing you so well, and that you want Jaime to have your response as soon as possible, I have taken the liberty of already writing and sending your reply so as to not have to wait for a raven to fly to Tarth and back again. A copy of that is enclosed here as well.

I am so very sorry, my dearest friend. I weep each time I think of how he is suffering. But he is still alive, Brienne, and so very strong and brave. If there is a man alive who can overcome such an injury, it is Jaime.

I am cutting short my stay here to proceed on to Tarth, knowing you will need me with you there, and leave tomorrow at first light, to arrive within a fortnight.

With eagerness to see you again, and all my affection and compassion,

Princess Daenerys Targaryen

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Thursday, 12 August 1813

King's Landing, Crownlands, Westeros

My Dearest, My Adored, My Most Treasured,

I have been despondent to read of your injury, absolutely inconsolable. The agony I feel on your behalf, to think of your suffering, is unbearable. And to be so far from you, unable to provide care and assure you of my continued devotion despite your disfigurement, is torment as well. However much you think these words describe my anguish, I beg you to treble it, and it will only approach half of my distress.

How relieved I am that you have Captain Snow at your side, if it cannot be me! Yes, I am very glad to hear about how that Dothraki was compensated for his crime. Please communicate to the captain my fervent hope that he made it a very slow and painful end, as well as my most forceful thanks.

Our dear friend has expressed a lack of surprise at Captain Snow's actions, both in repaying the Dothraki his offense and in remaining by your side, even writing such a clever and amusing letter on your behalf. She has always been aware of the captain's immense capacity for loyalty, justice, and kindness. You can have no better comrade while there than he, nor he, you. She was very happy, as was I, to read the captain's narrative about your location. We were both amused at how superior he is to you at painting a picture with words; we have a very clear idea of what the area is like, now. You have many talents, Jaime, but description is obviously not one of them.

"Nagged you like a fishwife" indeed… I shall make you pay for that slander, beloved, be sure of it.

I write this just prior to continuing on my journey to Tarth on the morrow. After so long a silence, such was the extent of my concern for you, and frustration to be so far from you, that I longed for our dear friend's companionship and solace. Also, I will be able to see you much sooner there than if you were to travel all the way to Casterly Rock. Our friend does very well, incidentally; though it is pirate season, she deftly employs the sword we gifted her for the purpose, and they haven't the slightest chance of success. Indeed, she has gained quite the reputation among them, if the captured ones can be trusted to tell true tales. He who loves her best should hasten back with all speed, lest he find Her Excellency lured away by a rakish pirate captain in his absence.

No, upon second thought, I cannot imagine her a pirate's wife. She would be the captain herself, and a better, more rakish one would not be found. Alas that women cannot be soldiers or sailors, for she would make the finest of either, I am confident you will agree.

Do not fear I will make myself unwell again, for I am committed to regaining my strength and remaining as healthy as can be. Your letters have rekindled in me a desire to live long by your side. I am traveling by carriage, with my maid and Podrick to coddle me. He has fitted the carriage with enough cushions and blankets and furs to put a sultan to the blush; I could not be more at ease if I were back in Casterly Rock in my favorite chair by the fire. The only place I could be safer or more comfortable is your arms. I miss you so much more than I could have believed, and I was already sure I would miss you a great deal.

Your letter was kindly forwarded by Robb from Casterly Rock to King's Landing. Upon reading it— and the others, which I do daily— I might outwardly seem to be calm, but my heart beats through my entire body and is conscious only of you. I belong to you, there is no other way of expressing it, and even that is not nearly strong enough.

From this point forward, direct all correspondence— and your own dear self, when your commission is terminated— to Tarth, my love. I will be there, waiting for you, as I have waited for you since the day you left.

Always, always, always yours,

Princess Daenerys Targaryen

P.S. I pray you forgive the tear stains smearing some of the words; I cannot think of what you have endured without weeping. I had asked Podrick for another drawing of myself to send you, but he told me I am "a sight", and not a pretty one, with how red and swollen my eyes are, and won't seeing that only make you feel worse instead of better? So that is why there is no drawing of me with this letter: Podrick feels my homely face will depress you too much.

P.P.S. Instead, there is a sketch of the wolf pup Robb gave me when I departed Casterly Rock. He has much the look of Ghost, though is not albino, merely white. Currently, I am calling him 'no-don't-chew-that-blast-you-come-here-Pod-catch-him', so perhaps something that flows more easily from the tongue would be better? I had thought to name him Specter, as a nod to his great-uncle, but considered I should solicit the advice of the expert wolf-companion among us: Captain Snow, what think you?

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Wednesday, 18 August 1813

Evenfall Hall, Tarth, Stormlands, Westeros

Dear Dany,

I feel like I am dying, such is the anguish that grips my heart. I find myself wondering how I will bear the knowledge of Jaime's mutilation and suffering, then hate myself for focusing on _my_ upset instead of devoting myself wholly to _his_. He must come directly to Tarth— not King's Landing, and certainly not to Lannisport. He needs me. I will permit no further delays to being at his side once more.

I have begun changing Evenfall Hall to better serve his needs, such as renovating rooms for exercise, a saltwater bath, and every other method known to medicine as being helpful to recuperation from such a grievous wound. As well, I have sent for the finest maester in Oldtown to attend Jaime upon his arrival. Word is that this fellow has some expertise in helping one who has lost a limb to adapt in other ways, and minimize the inconvenience and pain of being thus incapacitated.

Thank you, thank you, thank you— for your immediate response to Jaime, it was absolutely perfect and accurate in expressing my reaction— and for your traveling so far to be with me, especially when I know you are still recovering from your own illness. I keenly need you to help me endure the pain I feel on Jaime's behalf. Do not rush, however; I beg you to go easy and not exhaust yourself. Tell Podrick I shall hold him responsible if you are in any way unwell upon your arrival.

Having sent this to you at Bronzegate, you will receive it when you are but a week from Tarth. Send word and I shall meet you in Storm's End to sail with your party to Evenfall. The pirates have taken to preying on ships sailing back and forth to the mainland, of late, and I would not have you unprotected.

Your most faithful friend,

Brienne, Countess of Tarth

P.S. I will bring your crossbow with me.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:** Hi, everyone! This chapter's a bit weird, so, uh, stick with me? It'll be worth it?

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thursdy, 9 Septemer 1813

Volants, essos

Dear Prinses,

my names Bronn & I am 1 of the enlisted menn - jus been promoted, me, so now I am a corpral but you dont cayre abot that none - I dont have much skill at letters but the majer got his hand cut cleen orf - the captin was stabbed a bit & all so shot - I am all whats left who can wryte so -

the majer says to tell your dear freind that the captin woud have dyed but he had this buttin thing in his pocket - it kep the bullut & knyfes from the captins hert - it is the stronges buttin I have ever seen - the layce arund it is all grotty now from bloud but the buttin is not even a littel dented or scrached - they shoud give all us solders buttins lyke that eh? -

the majer was to go home but he sayd he woud not go withoute the captin too & I sayd I woud get them bothe back in whoole peeces - mostly becase I wanted to get oute of that fuckin hellwhole - but all so becase the majer & captin are not countes like mos officers - they shared all thoose socks with us - so leest I can do is carry theyre arses home eh? - so now we are all comin back to westros -

the majer is fine now but for whingin abot his hand bein gone - but the captin is not well at all - he broke many ribbs & lost a lot of blode & has beene feverish -

it was good that you said to go to tarth - I will send this letter theyre & get us passage & we shoud be there in a month or may be less if the winds be good - the majer says I shoud send this by rayvin insted of reglar post & youll get it faster -

the majer all so wants me to put in a drawrin of somethin nyce to cheere you up after readin such bad news so I have drawrn the osen & birds & wayves & sunn on the back of this letter - he & the captin look like helle & bein on a ship is not lyke to make them prettyer - so that is why I am not puttin a drawrin of them this tyme - but they are comin home & that is what matters eh? - better ugly then dead eh? -

the majer now wants me to tell you many things abot he loves you but I am not goin to do that - I figure you are aware of all that after how he goes on - I am to signe this from -

Majer Jamie Lanister

duke of Westerlans

P.S. now I am to put some more abot your dear freind is not to worry over the captin as we will tayke cayre of him - but the majer cant do but with his left hand so it will all be me - I dont mind as the captins a good man & he relly misses your deare freind if the way he carrys on in his fever is to go by - she semes prettye in the drawrin I saw of her so I dont blayme him -

P.P.S. now I am to say that if you want to wryte back you shoud send it by rayven to Lys or tyrosh becase after we leeve Volants we are goin to lys & than Tyrossh & from there to tarth -

P.P.P.S. now I am to say I am sorree for my spellin but I am not - I am not some rich counte with a mayster to teech me - he is lucky I can wryte at all eh? Or he woud not be abel to tell you we was comin - & I can drawr & am good at killin so I have my uses eh?

P.P.P.P.S. now I am to say sorree for saying counte - so I am sorree for sayin counte -

P.P.P.P.P.S. this one is only from me - what are theese P.P.S. things? Just a way to ad things you fogot to say?

.

* * *

.

Saturday, 20 September 1813

Evenfall Hall, Tarth, Stormlands, Westeros

Your Grace,

Forgive me my presumption in opening Her Highness' mail, but she is still en route to Evenfall and I know how keenly she awaits each letter from you. I wished to address any needs you might have with all speed, rather than delaying until her arrival. A raven has been sent to Her Highness' next planned stop to brief her of your situation.

Your fiancée will be weak with relief to hear of your recovery from your fever. I beg you to never doubt the most faithful heart of your beloved. She has wept frequently to think of your suffering, and her powerlessness to provide you the care you have needed in your infirmity. She will do everything in her power to ease you once you are by her side once more. She has missed you almost beyond her tolerance to bear. The prospect of having you close in just a very few days is the sole dream that has given her the strength needed to endure the wait.

Please thank Bronn for his most entertaining letter. His personality shines through with each word and we cannot wait to make his acquaintance and show him due appreciation for the care he is taking of you and Captain Snow while you travel home to us. May I assume that both you and the captain have applied for discharge from your military service and are soon to be civilians once more?

By the time you arrive at Tarth, we will all have given ourselves callused knees, and worn grooves before the Mother's altar, so frequently and ardently will we pray for your and his continued recovery and swift arrival.

If you can send even a quick note upon receiving this, though it might be only from Tyrosh and thus but days from arrival at Evenfall, I would be most grateful. Her Highness will be desperate for any word from you, and to know you continue to be well and progress ever closer to being with her once more.

With warmest regards, I remain

Your affectionate servant,

Brienne, Countess of Tarth

.

* * *

.

Saturday, 20 September 1813

Evenfall Hall, Tarth, Stormlands, Westeros

Dear Dany,

Now it is my turn to offer you comfort, though I am sorry for the need of it.

Jaime's batman wrote a nigh-unintelligible letter that is impossible for me to reproduce, but the gist of it is that Jon was wounded as well as Jaime. I believe their commissions have been concluded, for they are presently in Volantis and on their way to Tarth as I write this.

With love,

Brienne, Countess of Tarth

P.S. Apparently the cockade you made from that button saved Jon's life. He did not discard it, as you had feared, but he has carried it all these years, close to his heart. Your love protected him, Dany. He will come back to you, I promise.

.

* * *

.

Friday, 27 September 1813

Bronzegate, Stormlands, Westeros

Dear Countess Tarth,

We have received your message. The princess was distressed so I have written a reply on her behalf to the major and now to you. We leave for Storm's End tomorrow if the princess is well enough, and expect to be there within three days. We will remain there until your arrival. She is eager to see you again.

Your Servant,

Podrick Payne

.

* * *

.

Monday, 27 September 1813

Bronzegate, Stormlands, Westeros

Dear Major Lannister,

I am writing for the princess because she just learned about your current situation, and her hands are shaking too hard to hold the quill. She is very upset to hear of Captain Snow's injury, but relieved that you are doing better.

The princess says she is going to make an entire suit of armor out of buttons for both you and Captain Snow. I do not know what that means but it sounds impractical. Women often have odd ideas about fashion, though.

She wants me to sign this with love so I will.

Love,

Podrick Payne

P.S. To cheer you up, here is a little drawing I did of the princess with Lord Stark's son. Her Highness often says she hopes to one day have a son named Jon as well but it seems to me that too many Jons will get confusing and she should pick something else instead. I told her 'Podrick' but she said that is a terrible name.

.

* * *

.

Jon did not want to be at this house party, but it was the last opportunity he would have with Robb and Sansa before deploying to Essos.

Where he _also_ did not want to be, but needs must, when one was a bastard: there was no title or lands he might inherit from his father as Robb and Bran and Rickon would.

He descended the stairs to the grassy lawn, where several dozen people were scattered, chatting amiably. He saw his half-sister Sansa and her friend, Jeyne, and various others he already knew. Two people struck him as unusual in appearance; their hair was so fair it was nearly silver, but they were not old in the least.

The gentleman was a reedy fellow, with a petulant face, but the girl—

The _girl_ —

Her eyes met his, and the breath seized in Jon's chest. He must have made some sort of funny noise, because Robb glanced at him.

"Why are you wheezing?" Robb asked, then followed the line of Jon's gaze. "Ah."

Jon clenched his jaw, ignoring his brother's smirk.

"Well, let's go meet the princess, then," Robb continued.

" _That_ _'_ _s_ the Targaryen princess?" Jon thought he might wheeze again.

"She's perfectly nice," insisted Robb. "It won't hurt at all."

That wasn't what Jon had meant, but when Robb was in this sort of puckish mood, he could not be reasoned with. Jon sighed and followed his brother to the little knot of women.

The princess was petite, and from behind he could tell she had a womanly figure not best displayed by the long, slim silhouette of current fashion. Her hair fell to her shoulders in silver-gilt waves, gleaming a creamy white in the sunlight, and his palms itched to touch it.

He realized, as they approached, that she was speaking. Her voice was low, husky, sweet, and when he realized what she was saying, it was all the sweeter.

"It's not as if he had any choice in the matter. One can hardly blame a child for the sins of his parents. Should he not be judged for the quality of his character instead of the mistake of his blood? House Stark is known for its scrupulous honor."

Jon was positive he was wheezing again. Beside him, Robb let out a wheeze of his own. She was… she was _defending_ him. _Him_. The bastard everyone either ignored, or pretended was legitimate if they were forced to acknowledge him at all. Even the lowest baronet felt himself superior to Jon just because mother had been married to father prior to his birth.

"And was he not reared alongside the other children, all of whom have been praised for their excellence? I find it difficult to believe he would be so different from the rest of them simply because his parents were not wed."

He knew her story; had heard about how her family's lands and wealth had been confiscated, how all she had been left was her title and a bloodline that went back a thousand years with startling— sometimes troubling— purity.

That this princess, who was utterly dependent on the good-will of her hosts for her very living, would lecture them about fairness as regarded bastards, was beyond belief. Reckless. But brave. Incredibly, touchingly brave.

"I could not agree more, Your Highness," Robb said, pleasantly enough, but Jon could hear the edge to it. His brother did not lightly accept slurs against him. "It does you credit to express such an opinion."

The princess spun around in surprise, staring at them in shock. Jon took one look at her face, at such a proximity, and felt as if the world had ended and begun anew within the space of those few seconds.

He took her hand in his own, intending to bow over it, but the sensation that rippled up his arm from their point of contact made him pause, staring stupidly at her. She curtsied, then pulled her hand back, and it felt like a rejection.

"Dany," he said, then, louder, "Dany!" when she walked off.

But she did not return.

.

* * *

.

She was apologizing to him, for discussing his illegitimacy. She had been the only one not disparaging him for it, and she felt bad for even mentioning it. _A soft heart_ , he realized, concerned with the feelings of others. And this was a princess? He'd met mere baronesses who'd not shown him a fraction as much compassion.

"I'm not most people," she told him.

"No, you're not," said Jon. He was sure there was not another like her in all the world.

He told her to go to Winterfell if she were made unwelcome at Highgarden. The mental picture of her in his home, fur framing her face, her breath misting in the air as her cheeks pinkened, was so clear to him in that moment that it almost felt like a memory instead of just an imagining.

She touched his wrist, just for a moment, the lightest possible skimming of fingertips over his skin, but it was as if a flame had traced his flesh.

"Dany," he said, but she did not reply.

.

* * *

.

She had received a dozen proposals of marriage, perhaps more, but her brother did not permit her to accept any of them. She had, interestingly, refused a prime offer from Jaime Lannister, though any fool could see his heart belonged to the giantess with the extraordinarily beautiful eyes.

The joy on her face, when Ghost permitted her to stroke him, made his knees weak. And when their fingers threaded with each other's, the wolf's soft fur flowing around their joined hands, the need to kiss her almost overcame his common sense.

But her friend interrupted them, and then she was leaving.

"Dany!" he cried, but she did not stop.

.

* * *

.

They were dancing, waltzing, and it was like how Jon imagined flying: giddy, terrifying, ecstatic. She was so close, nearly embracing him, looking at him like he _mattered_ to her. Arousal tightened the muscles along his spine and he felt a moment's concern that he would have a visible reaction.

She was grace and beauty, she was a thief who stole the breath from his lungs and the words from his lips, and he gave them up to her gladly.

"I'd never betray you," Jon told her.

"I would not betray you, either," she replied, but then she ran off.

"Come back, Dany," he begged. "Come back to me."

.

* * *

.

Jon's heart stopped when the punt overturned, but before he could leap in after her, her head popped up from the water. She tilted her head back, her hair sleek around her head, and burst out laughing.

She was a mermaid; no, a siren, an inescapable lure, drawing him closer and closer until there was no hope of escape.

But Jon did not want to escape.

"Dany, Dany!"

He chased her, calling her name, but she was always a step or two out of reach.

.

* * *

.

She was lost in the maze. Jon had not been able to find her, nor had anyone else, and then they had all lost interest and left.

All but Jon.

He hastened to the stables for Ghost, seething with contempt for the others— even if he had not come to care for her, he could not have abandoned a woman lost, alone, at night. She had joked about turning her ankle, earlier, but what if she actually had?

On the way back, he stopped at the kitchen to ask for some string. The housekeeper was called, the situation explained, and a ball of bright red yarn produced, all in short order.

Ghost strained at his leash as if aware not only of their mission but of Jon's urgency. He progressed into the maze with the same unerring instinct that had kept them both alive a few times already. The path was complex and bewildering; more than once Jon became disoriented, and was very glad he'd thought of the yarn, because there was no way he'd be able to make his way back out again.

And then he found her. She sat on a little bench, her shoulders trembling as she wept into her hands. Then she looked up, at his arrival, and the gladness on her face, to see him— to see _him_ — made his heart stop.

He learned that the exact fit of her in his arms, while they danced, was no fluke; when pressed to each other as closely— _almost_ as closely— as possible, there was no straining or reaching, just a gentle shift and her mouth was there, and her lips were moving against his.

"Kiss me forever," she pleaded.

So he did, over and over, his lungs and belly wound up tight while she clung to him. He'd known it would be like this, from the first shared look, the first touch.

"I'm so glad you found me, Jon," she whispered.

"So am I," he replied, knowing it had been inevitable, not coincidence. There was no way this perfection was accidental.

She kissed him again, and smiled, and every beat of his heart exclaimed her name.

"Dany!" it said. He joined his voice to its call. "Dany, Dany!"

But she ran off and did not turn back.

.

* * *

.

"No, Dany," he said, and kissed her.

She sobbed against his mouth, winding her arms around his neck and holding on as if she meant to fuse them together for all time.

"I love you," she panted when the kiss ended. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't say so, but I can't help it. I don't know how I'm going to marry Edmure Tully or anyone else when I love you so much."

"You're not going to marry Edmure Tully or anyone else," he said. "You're only going to marry me."

"I _told_ you," she said, her voice anguished. "Viserys will never permit it."

As she spoke, she backed away from him.

"Dany?"

.

* * *

.

"We'll find a way, Dany," he told her. It was more than a promise; it was a vow.

She kissed him, held him, pressed her face to his throat, her breath warm against his skin.

"I love you," he whispered. The scent of her, roses and cream and smoke, was thick in the air.

Robb came to get her, and as the two of them receded in the distance, Jon was gripped by apprehension. He had to make her stop; she had to come back.

"Dany?"

She was close enough to hear him, still, but did not return, did not even pause.

"Dany?"

.

* * *

.

"I can't leave Viserys."

"Bring him with you to the North."

"He won't forgive me, if I went against his wishes. He won't come with me. And he won't have anything, without me."

" _ **I**_ won't have anything without you," Jon protested.

But she was already gone.

"Dany?"

.

* * *

.

Jon stared down at the cockade in his hand. It was very simple, just a pleated frill of lace framing a button, but what a button… there was only one family who had ever had access to Valyrian steel for such a mundane use. The item he held in his hand was worth more than an army lieutenant could earn in a year. In five years. Ten.

"I cannot possibly keep this," he said, holding it out, but she backed away from him.

"Please, _please_ be careful," she whispered. "I love you so."

"Dany?"

But she was already gone.

.

* * *

.

Numb, heartsore, hollow, Jon looked at Robb.

"I don't know what to do now," he said. He stared down at his upturned hands. They were empty.

"You should go," said Robb. "Staying here the rest of the week… I think it will hurt too much. Both of you."

The idea of hurting her took away Jon's breath.

"I should go," he agreed, and followed his brother to the plain little room that was all a bastard could expect in a place like Highgarden.

They packed. He hadn't much. It didn't take long. Robb walked him down to the stables, and they saddled his horse.

Ghost looked at him in that way he had, with such wisdom that Jon suspected he was just pretending to be a mere beast, then whined and bumped his head against Jon's chest.

"You know where to go?"

Jon nodded. He had the address on a scrap of parchment. Somewhere.

Robb put a hand on his shoulder. "I'll do what I can for her," he said.

"Thank you."

A last handshake, and Jon mounted. He began to ride away, but stopped to look back at the house one last time.

When he turned back and kicked his horse into a trot, her heard her calling his name.

"Jon!" she cried. "Jon!"

But he was already gone.


	8. Chapter 8

.

* * *

.

"Bronn. Bronn!"

"Major?"

"He's turning gray. I don't think he's breathing."

"Shit. Move aside, Major."

"What are you doing? He's already got half his ribs broken, you'll break the other half!"

"I've seen it— a man what's stopped breathing, you strike him in the chest, makes his lungs work again."

"Wuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…"

"See?"

"Oh, gods. I need a drink."

"Pour me one while you're at it, Major."

"Funny."

"Oh. Forgot about the hand… sorry."

"Don't be. Gives me an excuse to just drink from the bottle."

"Save some for me, you selfish sod."

"That's Major Selfish Sod to you, Corporal."

"He looks terrible. Maybe you should read him the letters again, Major."

"I've read them three times, Bronn. They're not working."

"Neither is anything else. He almost croaked, just now. What's to lose?"

" _You_ read them, this time, if it means that much to you."

"…fine, I'll just talk to him. Oy, Captain, if you die, she's either going to get sick again, or take up with another man."

"She already thought he was dead for seven years and didn't take up with anyone, Bronn."

"You're shit at this, Major."

"I don't want to upset him."

"You want him happy or you want him alive? Never met a men who wouldn't stay alive for spite when all else failed."

"…fine. Jon, if you don't wake up, Bronn is going to seduce Dany and have five children with her."

"Hey, now, Major, I don't want him to kill me."

" _Ten_ children, Jon. And they'll all be named 'Bronn'. Even the girls."

"Major…"

"The girls will be named Bronna, Bronneen, Bronnette…"

"Major, look."

"Bronnice— Jon? No, stop slapping him. Jon?"

"Ddnnn ooo vvggnn ddshh rrr…"

"What did he say?"

"Huh."

"What did he say?"

"He said, 'don't you fucking touch her'. Hn. I guess you were right."

"Told you. Captain, if you hurry and wake up, your princess and I will name that last girl after you. 'Jonnelle' is a fine name for a lass, don't you think?"

"Ulll gill ooo…"

"What was that?"

" 'I'll kill you'. Jon, that's hardly behavior becoming to an officer."

"Guh duh huulll."

"I've been to hell and I'm not going back. You can't make me. Bronn, bring some water. Clearly, we've been going about this all wrong. You don't need loving words, Jon, you need your arse kicked."

"Here's the water."

"Bronn! It was for him to drink, not pour over his head… you've half-drowned him. If he survives being shot, and stabbed, and then feverish, only to drown because of us, Dany will kick _our_ arses."

"I've seen the drawing. If she really looks half that pretty, I'll _let_ her kick my arse. Here's more water."

"Slowly, Jon."

"Dwice az briddy."

" _Twice_ as pretty, you say, Captain? That seals it, then. I'll go get my courting clothes ready."

"I will _gill_ you, Bronn."

"Once you're strong enough, you can avenge Dany's honor against Bronn, but you couldn't kill a fly right now, Jon."

"Iz zhe well, Zhaime?"

"When she learned of your condition, she was a bit too upset to write back, so Pod penned it for her. Shall I read it to you?"

"Yez."

" _Dear Major Lannister_ ,

" _I am writing for the princess because she just read Countess Tarth's letter about how you are all doing, and her hands are shaking too hard to hold the quill. She is very distressed to hear of Captain Snow's injury, but relieved that you are doing better._

" _The princess says she is going to make an entire suit of armor out of buttons for both you and Captain Snow. I do not know what that means. It sounds impractical. Women often have odd ideas about fashion, though._

" _She wants me to sign this with love so I will._

 _Love,_

 _Podrick Payne_

"Oh, Pod, you precious creature."

"Major, that boy ain't right."

"I'm aware, Bronn, I'm aware. Here is the post-script.

" _P.S_. _To cheer you up, here is a little drawing I did of the princess with Lord Stark_ _'_ _s son. Her Highness often says she hopes to one day have a son named Jon as well_ —

"—steady on, Jon, no blubbering—

"— _but it seems to me that too many Jons will get confusing and she should pick something else instead. I told her Podrick but she said that is a terrible name._

"It is, it's a ghastly name."

"Zhow me th' drawng."

"Ah. Here it is."

"…"

"Jon? Oh, hell. Bronn?"

"Major?"

"Need a handkerchief."

"…oh."

"Jon, take it. I am not wiping your eyes for you, dammit. Some things a man must do for himself."

"Zhank you."

"She wrote a letter, too. It arrived just today. Shall I—"

"Yes."

"Ah, she's arrived at Evenfall Hall by now, excellent… _My dear and beloved Jaime_ _—_

" _Countess Tarth has received nothing from you since Bronn's so-charming letter of several weeks ago, to our shared concern. Pod insists that "no news is good news" and I have been chanting this to myself a hundred times an hour to belay the anxiety that hounds me with every heartbeat, but I beg you, send us a raven soonest with the happy news that you and Captain Snow both have passed any point of danger and are on your way to recovery by now._

"See, Bronn, what your refusal has done? Now the ladies are upset and worried again."

"You don't pay me near enough to go through that again. My head ached for two days, after all that writing."

"I don't pay you at all, His Majesty does."

"Proving my point, you are."

"More."

"So demanding, Jon, but as you wish…

" _Our dear friend was quite stunned to learn that the token she gave Captain Snow so long ago was the method by which he was saved. She was much affected to learn that he had kept it with him all these years, having thought he had left it where they parted. Her relief, that she might have had any hand in protecting the captain, bolsters her against the despair she feels at his poor condition._

 _I feel somewhat disgruntled that I did not think to give you such an item. You will just have to remind yourself frequently that each time you think of me, I am certainly thinking of you in return, because you are on my mind with every breath that I take._

" _Distress over the wounds suffered by yourself and Captain Snow has made Her Excellency and myself positively haggard, ser. Podrick continues to refuse to draw me, and the artistic laundress has refused to draw our friend, as well, saying she looks even worse than I after hearing of Captain Snow's condition. So Pod drew the laundress, and she drew him, and I have included those sketches._

 _Your impatient and loving fiancée,_

 _Princess Daenerys Targaryen_

" _P.S. I have a faint suspicion Podrick might be sweet on the laundress._

" _P.P.S. I am almost positive that our friend is sweet on Captain Snow._

" _P.P.P.S. I no doubts whatsoever that I am sweet on you."_

"That laundress is actually rather pretty, don't you think, Jon?"

"Don't care."

"Let me see… huh. I'd have a go at her. Pod better get ready for some competition. He don't have a chance against me."

"You might be surprised, Bronn. Tyrion had some interesting tales to tell about our Podrick's adventures in Lannisport. It's good we'll be with them on Tarth soon, or else I'd start to worry the countess and the princess might fall prey to his seductive charms, as well."

"When do we leave?"

"As soon as you get your arse out of the bed, Captain."

.

* * *

.

"We've had a raven!" called Brienne as she stomped across the great hall toward the smaller, more private solar in which Dany sat at a little desk, writing letters she owed to Tyrion and various Starks and Stark-adjacent personages.

Since Robb and Jeyne's advent to Casterly Rock, not only did she write to them weekly, but Sansa had renewed her acquaintance as well, becoming a faithful correspondent. Then Arya Stark had sent a letter— a rather _challenging_ letter— demanding to know why Dany felt herself worthy of Jon, so of course Dany had had to respond to that (her admittance that she in no way deserved Arya's brother, but would spend the rest of her life trying to do so, seemed to have appeased the fierce little wolf).

And when His Grace, Eddard Stark, Duke of the North, had written her a letter introducing himself to her, she had taken the opportunity to extract from him every story of Jon's youth that he could remember. She had exchanged a letter or two with Bran and Rickon, enjoying a lively discussion of recently-read books with the former and entertaining the latter with various tales of dragons and knights— where the dragons were the heroes of the stories, for once— that Viserys had told her in her childhood. She'd even received a letter from Theon Greyjoy, declaring that if she wouldn't marry him, he _supposed_ Jon was a decent substitute.

Dany leapt up from the desk and flew from the solar to meet Brienne halfway across the hall.

"I can't decide if I want it to be from Bronn or not," Dany. "It is so interesting to try to decode which words he intends, don't you think?"

"Not when one merely wants the message," Brienne replied, waving the tight-rolled parchment in the air. "I don't have time to translate gibberish when I need to know Jaime's condition."

"True, true," Dany murmured, then gave a happy little gasp as Brienne unrolled it. "Oh, that's Jon's hand. May I read it?"

Brienne gave it to her; she eagerly stretched the parchment open, and began to read aloud.

" _Thursday, 21 October 1813_

" _The Handless Man Inn, Tyrosh, Essos_

" _My Beloved Dany,_

"Oh! He— he is writing directly to me, himself! He must have sent this by a maester's raven, instead of a military one!

" _I take up quill once more to write you of our situation, Jaime's and my own. I apologize most sincerely for the delay in communication, as well as the distress you and Brienne experienced as a result. It needed to wait until I was recovered enough to write, for Bronn was so traumatized by his experience as Jaime's secretary that he flatly refused to act in that capacity ever again. We attempted to change his mind through force, but our threats of assault upon his person were met with hilarity. We cannot argue his laughter; we are so weak, after our illnesses, that Brienne's laundress could defeat both of us at the same time and not even need her iron as a weapon._

" _I am glad to say I have come through my ordeal (mostly) unscathed, though slightly the worse for wear. I fear my chest looks like a patchwork quilt, between the wounds and the stitches needed to hold me together. Please accept my deepest regrets for any worry the news of my condition may have caused; it has never been my intention to cause you or Brienne any concern._

" _I had believed myself healing despite the severity of my wounds and loss of blood, and indeed had I been tended in a more hygienic environment, I've no doubt there would have been no complications. However, the hospital in Meereen consists of a filthy tent on the bare ground, with little hope of the practices known to ward off infection. It is a marvel, how well your gift to me deflected first a bullet, and then a knife, for without it doubtless I'd be returning to be buried at Winterfell this moment, instead of headed to Tarth for our long-awaited reunion with you both._

"Oh, don't cry, Dany." Brienne produced a huge white handkerchief from some deep pocket and thrust it into her friend's hand, taking the letter from her and continuing in her stead.

" _Jaime is doing very well, considering his affliction, with no more fevers, and his demeanor has been improving steadily with each day that brings him closer to being reunited with Brienne. He is in high enough spirits, in fact, that he insisted upon staying at this inn the moment he learned of its name. It is in a disreputable part of town, which appeals to Bronn, but the only thing I myself can find to recommend it is its proximity to Tarth, which I confess myself eager to arrive at after a long and harrowing journey. We estimate it will take a week from our departure tomorrow until we arrive._

" _I would like to confide in Brienne about Jaime's apprehensions about her reception of him when she sees his injury. She has been nothing but accepting, of course, and I pray she does not take it personally if he expresses doubt that she might still return his affections. But he no longer finds much of value about himself, despite protestations on Bronn's part, and my own. He esteems neither of us nearly so much as herself, however, so I have hopes she will be able to set him straight once more._

"My dear, I'm sorry," Dany whispered, pushing the handkerchief into Brienne's hand now that _she_ was weeping. Dany retrieved the letter and read on.

" _With no exaggeration at all, I can state that your letters and the drawings have given both Jaime and myself the endurance we needed to persevere beyond our injuries and ailments. But you and Brienne have done far more than merely save our lives, Dany. You have_ _made_ _our lives, since the moment of our meeting, and in the last year have been the reasons for us to fight on, long past when our discouragement or wounds would have been our defeat._

" _You did this, not by setting out to inspire us in the face of adversity, but just by detecting something good in us in the first place. Whatever speck of worth you found in us, you have magnified, so that all of our failings diminish in comparison. If anyone wonders at you for choosing us, if they ask you how you could possibly love such men, know that it is because you have the power to transform the flawed._

 _Only tell them: I touch him and he changes, becoming his true self. I perform alchemy on him. Brooding, baseborn Jon Snow_ _—_ _arrogant, caddish Jaime Lannister— turns from lead to gold in my arms._

The letter's pages slipped from Dany's trembling hands. She lifted her incredulous gaze to her friend, mouth parted in astonishment, as yet more tears rolled down her face.

Brienne offered Dany a shaky smile.

"Whoever would have thought that brooding, baseborn Jon Snow would have the soul of a poet?" she asked— rhetorically, but sounding far more like she really would like an answer. She bent and retrieved the pages from the floor and finished reading the letter aloud.

" _I am and have ever been, freely and entirely,_

 _Your most devoted, humble, and affectionate servant,_

" _Captain Jon Snow_

" _P.S. Bronn was much impressed by the laundress's charms, as evidenced in Podrick's drawing, and wishes me to mention that if Pod has staked no claim to her, he would like to press his own suit._

" _P.P.S. Jaime is revoltingly absolute in how sweet he is on Brienne._

" _P.P.P.S. I am most definitely sweet on you, my dearest one._

After sharing the handkerchief until it was damp enough to be wrung out, they calmed themselves, cheered by the notion that they would be reunited with Jon and Jaime within a sennight.

"We have preparations to make," Brienne declared, "and not a moment to waste on them."

So she went to bully the carpenters into hastening the speed with which they were constructing a therapeutic saltwater pool, and Dany began commanding Evenfall Hall's battalion of servants into the preparations needed for the anticipated new residents, and Podrick prayed for the endurance to withstand the demands of them both. He did not mind being kept busy as a way for them to distract themselves from worrying, but he was ever so tired, and had not been able to snatch even a single night with his laundress sweetheart in almost a week.


	9. Chapter 9

"This is not wise, Dany," admonished Brienne, but gently, upon arriving at the corner turret upon which her friend had stationed herself. "It is too cold. You will become ill again."

"Nonsense," Dany replied from where she sat overlooking the approach to Tarth's small marina. "It is not even all that chilly; it is worse at Casterly Rock in full winter than Tarth in autumn. Pod has created a tiny little palace here for me; he has covered this chair with every pillow in the castle, wrapped me in every blanket to be found on the island, and brings me another cup of tea every half-hour."

She raised the latest such cup as proof.

"And he has been muttering about building a fire up here, as well. I rather think he believes we are camping, instead of just sitting here and watching the horizon. He seems to be enjoying himself. Ah, here he is again. Pod, give that tea to Her Excellency. I have not yet finished the last cup."

"You are in high spirits," Brienne commented, accepting the tea with a nod and watching, amused, as Pod hovered about Dany ensuring no pillow had dared to displace itself, nor blanket become untucked, in the ten minutes since he had last left his lady. "I had thought you would be nervous, but I find you up here, positively languid."

"Podrick convinced me of the futility of pacing and wringing my hands," said Dany. "Their ship will sail just as fast if I worry myself sick as it will if I sit here and be waited upon like a pasha. Pod, be so kind as to bring up a chair for Her Excellency, won't you?"

"There's no need—" Brienne started to say, but he was already gone. She sighed. "I feel like today is the day, Dany."

Dany nodded. "As do I. And if not today, tomorrow. Soon. Soon, they will be with us."

They watched. They waited. Silently, patiently. Pod brought up the promised chair, and Brienne took a seat. They waited some more.

"I have things I should be doing," Brienne murmured at one point, but made no effort to move.

"I need a chamber pot," Dany said a little after that. "Too much tea." But she continued to sit there and stare out over the water.

But that pressing urge continued to press, until she was forced to take herself away to a privy. Afterward, when she set foot to step, intending to climb back up to the turret, she heard a thundering from above and flattened herself back against the wall.

"They're coming!" exclaimed Brienne as she descended the steps three at a time, dashing out into the hallway. "They're going to the main dock, not the Hall's private dock as we'd expected."

"You go hitch up something, I'll follow," Dany promised, then shrieked, "Podrick!"

With a nod, Brienne dashed toward the stables.

Pod pelted around a corner, panting, the teacup in his hand half-empty from sloshing its contents into its saucer as he had run. "Your Highness?"

"With me, as I go," she commanded, taking off after Brienne as quickly as she could. In a corset and frock, she could not sustain the pell-mell speed of her friend in her comfortable split skirt and redingote, but strode along as best she could, breathlessly calling out commands to Podrick as she went.

"Make sure the solar has a fire!" she instructed as they crossed the courtyard. "And pillows, get them all down from the turret… food, nothing that needs to be hot, in case they don't wish to dine right away… it must all be able to eat with one hand… make sure there is wine, and His Grace likes cognac… light the hearths in their bedrooms, in case they want to sleep, and warm the sheets… put water on to boil, for tea and baths—"

Brienne burst from the stables driving a gig. She stopped only long enough for Pod to fling Dany up onto the seat at her side.

"—and then hitch up the carriage and follow us down to the dock!" she called as they careened away. She could hear Pod shouting orders to the other servants as they sped away, rounding the long curve leading down from the castle toward the town of Evenfall.

"I'm scared," Brienne said, so quietly that Dany could scarcely hear her over the rapid thuds of the horse's hooves. "What if he won't let me help him?"

"He will," Dany told her. She wanted to pat her friend's arm, or squeeze her hand, but had to cling to the seat to keep from flying off every time they took a turn. "Don't you remember? Major Lannister is revoltingly absolute in how sweet he is on you."

Brienne sucked in a deep breath and expertly guided the gig over a little stone bridge. "I hope you're right."

"Of course I am," Dany said comfortably. "After so long, how can you doubt it?"

"It's been almost two years since I've seen him. And eight since you've seen Jon. Are you not nervous at all?"

"Before Jon's last letter, I would have been. But now… no. His words have set an immovable certainty in my heart. For Jon and myself, and for you and Jaime. We have not come through so much only to fail now."

Brienne's cerulean eyes met Dany's for long moment, and then she gave a decisive nod, back to her usual rock-solid self.

"No, we haven't," she agreed firmly. "All will be well. I won't permit anything else."

Dany grinned into the wind; fate would not dare to contradict Brienne when she had decided upon something. She was more stubborn than an entire herd of aurochs.

They reached the town of Everfall just as the ship hove into port. Its residents, long accustomed to their lady's cavalier attitude toward safe driving speeds, did not blink an eye as she hurtled down its main street, expertly guiding the nimble little gig around pedestrians and vehicles alike.

Upon reaching the dock, they skidded to a halt, sending a spray of gravel a dozen feet in every direction, just as the gang plank was shoved off the side of the ship to land with a clatter on the worn, warped boards. Dany was well aware that they had just made the least dignified arrival in the history of Westeros, but could not scrape up the slightest bit of concern.

Brienne grunted as she grasped Dany's waist and lifted her down, not from any burden of her friend's weight— which was negligible compared to her burly strength— but because she had caught sight of numerous soldiers and sailors on the deck of the ship, all gawking at them in what Dany felt was a most impolite manner. Brienne threw back her shoulders, which made her already-impressive height loom even taller. She wrapped her palm around the grip of her ever-present sword, looking as grim as when she marched out to face the ever-infringing pirates.

Dany, however, lifted her chin and surveyed them with her most haughty and regal stare, meeting the eyes of each individual man until he looked away in shame. She had not been brought up by Viserys to quail before a pack of impudent soldiers and sailors.

"You must teach me how you do that," muttered Brienne.

"You already know how," Dany replied. "All you must do is project how much better you know you are."

Brienne scoffed.

"You are worth three times as much as however many men as are aboard that ship at this very moment," said Dany. "Why else would Jaime love you so? He's the handsomest man in Westeros, and the richest. He could literally have any woman in the world, but he went to war for eight years so he could keep himself to you alone. He did not do it for his own amusement, you foolish thing."

"Not every woman," Brienne quipped back to her, a new lightness in her extraordinary eyes making them more vivid and compelling than even the sapphire waters encircling her island. "You wouldn't have him as a gift."

"I already have a gift of my own," Dany said. "But before I met Jon? If I hadn't realized you loved Jaime? Yes, I'd have married him as soon as the banns were read."

Brienne looked startled, then amused. "Good for me, then, that I'm such a poor actress that you were able to tell. Though the way you and Jaime squabble… your home would not have been a peaceful one."

Dany grinned up at her. "We'd have rowed frequently, yes, but I daresay we'd have made efforts to reconcile just as often, and a house can be very peaceful when its lord and lady haven't left their bed in three days."

That started Brienne into laughing, even as she gained a thoughtful expression about the possibilities of such a thing, and Dany joined her, and that was the sound that rang out over the dock as their men began to leave the ship. There was a flash of scarlet wool, and then Jaime appeared at the end of the gangplank. Dany heard Brienne's gasp, their laughter fading, and felt her own mouth drop open in spite of trying her best to keep a stoic facade for the sake of appearances.

Jaime seemed to have aged a decade in the year since she had last seen him, his hair cropped brutally short to reveal a face far more lined than before, with weary grooves bracketing his mouth. His right arm was in a sling, strapped close to his chest, and where a hand would have exited the open end of the sling was vacant. Somehow, though, his suffering had only rendered him more devastatingly attractive than ever. His eyes were just as green, and they locked onto Brienne with the same painful intensity as always.

Dany was jolted from her reverie of studying Jaime by Brienne's harsh breathing; looking up, she saw her friend shaking from the strain of standing still, instead of racing to the man she loved as she so clearly wished. Dany slipped her hand into Brienne's, squeezing to give her strength, then winced when her friend's grip tightened to the point of pain and beyond. Dany made not a sound; Brienne could break all five of her fingers, if that was what she needed in that moment.

Another clatter sounded behind them, and slowing hoofbeats, and then the Hall's carriage was rolling to a far-more-subdued stop besides the gig. Pod descended from his seat beside the coachman and came to flank Dany's other side, flashing her his usual cheerful grin. She was very grateful for his staunch presence, because she felt a bit dizzy with anticipation and might have need of his strong arm if her stamina betrayed her.

Once Jaime stepped off the gangplank, another man appeared upon it. Wiry, his face as sun-creased as a raisin, he hoisted two massive canvas duffle bags, one to each shoulder, as if they weighed nothing at all.

"That's Bronn, my lady," said Podrick.

She hummed to acknowledge his words, but felt herself start to bounce on her toes, restless to see the man most important to her.

"Where is he?" she asked, more to herself than to her companions. "Is he not there? He must be. Where is he?"

"Shall I go ask, my lady?" Pod offered, his face kind and, she thought, a bit worried as well.

"Yes," she answered. "And—"

She stopped short, because there on the gangplank, at last, was Jon. His hair was a wild tumble of sable curls that fell to his shoulders, and his face just as brown as he had said, but there was a worryingly gray cast underlying the color. The haleness had gone from him, leaving him far less robust than Dany remembered from Highgarden. As he took his first step onto the gangplank, he swayed with the ship, and for a ghastly moment, it seemed as if he would blow off into the sea.

"Oh!" she cried, and before she realized what she was doing, had released Brienne's hand to dash toward the ship.

"Dany!" exclaimed Brienne, but Dany did not heed her, blind and deaf to anything but Jon and how he needed her. She raced across the rough boards of the dock, aware of Jaime staring at her in shock as she came ever closer. Jon looked up at her, then, and his face slackened at the sight of her.

Just as she was to pass Jaime, just when Bronn realized that she was barreling toward him and gaped in surprise, Jaime reached out with his left arm and collected Dany against him.

"My dear," he said, gazing down at her with an expression that most people would interpret as devotion, but which she knew was a stern warning to keep to her role. "I have missed you just as much, but there was no need for you to make such a scene."

"Let me go," she begged in a whisper, struggling to be free. "He needs me, Jaime."

But Jaime just clasped her harder and forced a smile onto his face.

"As you can see, we are all fine, if a bit the worse for wear. Bronn will do whatever is needed to get us to the castle in whole pieces."

He glanced over his shoulder at the other man, who dropped the duffles and dutifully made his way back to Jon. Climbing back onto the gangplank, he said something to Jon, then turned to face forward. Jon placed his hands on Bronn's shoulders and, with that reassurance, was far more steady against the rocking and motion of ship versus gangplank.

Jaime pressed his cheek to hers, his cold face startling a gasp from her even as she fought to slip from the band of his arm. Her gaze remained locked with Jon's as he proceeded to the steady timber of the dock with Bronn's help.

"There are officers on board the ship," he muttered in her ear, "watching our reunion, and every one panting for any indication that something is wrong. That you won't want your maimed duke any longer. Play your part one last time. It's almost over."

Oh. He looked so tired and sad. This was the least of what she could do for him, to spare him humiliation, to save his pride.

"Of course, Jaime. I'm sorry," she said, contrite, and subsided against him. With one last look at Jon, she turned her face up to Jaime's and made herself smile. She channeled all her relief and love for Jon into it, and it must have been convincing, because the tension left Jaime's face, and he smiled back.

"There you go," he said assuringly.

Overcome with affection for her old friend, she threw her arms around him and held him close.

"I have missed you," Dany murmured, "and been nearly as distraught over your injury as Brienne."

She pulled back a little to look at the stump cradled against his chest, then back up at him.

"She doesn't care, Jaime," she said quietly. "She's so happy to have you back, that you're alive, that she wouldn't care if you'd lost all four limbs. She has loved you for ten years. This little thing is not going to change that."

"Little thing?" he said, his voice raw, but with a powerful, aching hope that almost brought her to tears.

She nodded firmly. "Tiny. Minute. She'll barely notice."

"Your Grace," said Brienne from behind Dany, and she turned to see her friend had followed her, albeit at a far more dignified pace. Brienne was as still as stone, her face looking carved from granite as she stared at Jaime.

"Your Excellency," replied Jaime, his gaze hungry as it took in the tall, strong form of his beloved. "Thank you for your hospitality."

"I am honored to offer it to you," was her careful, if shaky, reply. "If you will accompany Her Highness to the carriage, I will escort Captain Snow and your companion."

"Thank you," Jaime said, his voice throbbing with emotion.

Dany snatched one last glimpse of Jon over Jaime's shoulder. He was walking— tottering, really— toward the dock with Bronn and Pod flanking him nearby, clearly ready to grab him should he list toward the water once more. Brienne strode past her and Jaime, and Dany knew Jon could be in no better hands. A word from her had Podrick deserting Jon for Jaime, his face somber.

"Welcome home, Your Grace," he said to Jaime.

"Thank you," said Jaime again, and reached to shake the boy's hand with his own… which no longer existed. The stump, tethered by the sling, stopped short before falling back to the center of Jaime's chest.

Jaime froze, and his face was a terrible, ashamed mask of self-loathing.

"No worries," Podrick said cheerfully, and held out his left hand, instead.

Jaime stared at it a long moment before slowly extending his own left hand, shaking Pod's without the grace Dany was accustomed to seeing from him. How queer it must feel, to suddenly have to do everything the other way! Her heart ached for his loss, but she was careful to keep any pity from showing. He would not appreciate it, and might even come to despise her for it. He was a proud man, very typically Lannister in that regard.

"Shall I go help Bronn with your things, ser?" asked Pod.

"Yes, please," said Jaime. With a smile, Podrick left them.

Dany positioned herself on Jaime's left and curled her hand around his elbow. Her back now to the dock and the damned nosy officers spying on them, she was able to let herself weep as she had longed to do from the first moment she had spotted the ship on the horizon.

"I'm so glad you're home," she said with a sniffle. "Brienne has been a rock, of course. Even in the face of things that would break a lesser woman such as myself… I thought she was going to fall to pieces when she learned you had been hurt, but instead she just worked harder to make Tarth perfect for you."

"Perfect?" Startled, he looked down at her with confused green eyes as they reached the carriage. "What does that mean?"

The revelation of the adaptations Brienne had begun to make for the purpose of rehabilitating Jaime was not hers to make, but Brienne's, so Dany just said, "It means that you're going to get better, and be almost as good as new, because Brienne won't permit anything less."

She preceded him into the carriage. Once he was seated beside her, she asked, "What will you want first? To eat? To bathe? To sleep?"

Jaime's shoulders slumped in exhaustion. "For now, I just want to sit," he replied. "And hold Brienne. Everything else can come later."

"You shall have your pick of chairs, ser," Dany told him, striving for lightness and humor.

He managed a smile. "So I will."

Dany placed her hand on his knee and he covered it with his own, pressing hard, as if to reassure himself it was really there, that he really was on Tarth at last.

She heard a clatter from outside, and the carriage jostled and swayed on its suspension as the duffles were tossed into the boot at the rear of the carriage, and then someone clambered up to sit beside the coachman.

The door opened, and there was Jon.

"In you get," said Jaime, holding out his hand. Jon grasped it and let Jaime pull against gravity to get him up the tiny steps into the vehicle.

Once inside, he fell heavily onto the padded leather seat across from Dany.

Brienne heaved herself in, and the carriage set forth before the door even swung shut behind her, which was just as well, because she pulled Jaime into her arms right away. Her big body shuddered, and Dany knew her friend was finally permitting herself to give in to the terror and despair she'd felt since learning of Jaime's mutilation. Brienne had held on, indomitable, until it was at last safe to be weak.

Jaime seemed to… collapse into her embrace, his forehead on her broad shoulder as his arms went around her, and then his shoulders began to shake. He submitted to her clasp, slumping against her, embracing her tightly, and Dany knew he, too, had been holding on as well. They all had been. He and Brienne murmured to each other, low whispers that Dany could not, and did not want, to hear.

She looked at Jon and found him watching her instead of their friends. Their eyes met for an endless, breathless moment, and then she blushed. It made him smile in that way he had, just the faintest curve of the mouth, infinitely tender. She could not wait one moment longer to touch him again, at long last. Dany reached up and brushed her fingertips over that curve.

"You're really here. After so long, Jon…" She cupped his face in her trembling hand, wondrous at the prickle of whiskers and the heat of him against her palm, aware she sounded like the veriest fool, and uncaring in the least. She caressed her thumb over his cheek, feeling the sharpness of his cheekbone under the thin skin covering it.

Worry and shock at his appearance was giving way to elation; she felt stupidly, wildly happy, as if she could run the perimeter of the castle— no, the entire island— shouting for joy. Eight years, it had been, since last they had been this close. Unchanged was the fresh scent of pine and fir about him, now joined by a briny hint of the sea, but the rest…

The years of war and toil had left their mark. Two pronounced scars marred his face, now. One curved along his temple, around the outer edge of his left eye, from forehead to cheek. The other slashed vertically from brow, over eye socket, to right cheek. Both gleamed pale against the nut-brown of his face. His eyes, once so deep and soft, had hardened, now resembling dragonglass far more than the velvet she had formerly compared them to. His once-pliable lips were pressed together by pain into a flat, narrow line, and the loss of weight from his recent tribulations made his cheekbones and jaw more angular and harsh.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note:** This is the last full chapter! Thank you to everyone for your kind compliments and readership of this story, it surprised me with how much i came to love writing it.

 **There will be an epilogue tomorrow, from 25 years later, showing how things have ended up for our pairs.**

.

* * *

.

He was Jon, still, of course, but he was another man, too. Deprivation and loss had altered him, marked him in ways she could not fathom. Dany had worried that he might not still love her, so different was she from the girl he had known at Highgarden, but for the first time she considered that he was not the same man she had known, either, and in his eyes she could see his worry that he would not be enough for her.

But she could still see the unshakable heart of him, the iron-strong honor and goodness that was still there, and always would be. Jon had seen and endured much, but what would have other men bending and breaking, compromising, justifying, had only redoubled his strength. Traits he had picked up or discarded along the way were like so many garments; take them off, put them on, but the soul within remained as constant as the tide and the stars above.

Jon captured her hand in his, pressing her palm to his face. "I know I'm different—" he began, but she interrupted him.

"You're _better_. You have accomplished so much, and survived against all odds." She laughed at herself, a little bitterly. What if the Dany he loved was a different one— a _superior_ Dany— than she was now? How could she compare to the girl he'd remembered for so long? "I've barely survived, even _with_ all odds. If there is one of us who feels lesser in comparison to how they were before, it is I."

"What are you talking about?" Jon asked, frowning down at her in confusion.

"I wasn't much before," she found herself blurting, pouring out all the poison she'd held inside herself. "Nothing but an empty title, but you found something in me to love anyway, for which I shall always be… amazed. Humbled. And instead of deserving your love, I was weak, and chose duty over love, and sent you away… I haven't forgiven myself for it, Jon, not even once. Not once in the last eight years. Knowing how I hurt you, how I sentenced you to such pain and loneliness, and for so long… I will never stop despising myself for being so weak."

He stared at her in silence for so long that Dany started to fidget, twisting her fingers anxiously in her lap, wondering if she'd shocked him so badly he was speechless. Or was he horrified by her, and feeling regrets? Pondering a way to get away from her, now that he saw what a pathetic thing she had become?

But then he _laughed_.

"What a pair we are, then, Dany," Jon said, "and perfect for each other, because I've spent the last eight years despising myself for asking you to choose between me and your brother. Only the cruelest person would do that to one he professed to love."

"What?" Dany gasped. "No—"

"I was so selfish, wanting you despite your obligation to Viserys," he pushed on. "I expected you to give up everything for a few days of marriage before leaving you for years, and possibly never returning. Only the worst sort of man would ask that of you, the most greedy and demanding."

"I never thought that of you, Jon," said Dany, her hand back on his face, caressing his cheek, feeling shocked and dismayed that he'd feel this way. "Not once."

"And I never thought of you as weak, Dany. Not once." He smiled at her, then, and it was his rare smile, sweet and slow.

Dany let herself just stare at him, studying his beloved features, for long moments. Then, carefully, afraid to cause him pain, she slid forward on the carriage seat and reached for him. He leaned forward with exquisite care, holding himself stiffly, and they went into each others arms.

She pressed her face to his throat, her head fitting perfectly just there, like they'd been built for the express purpose of holding each other. The heat of him, press of his body— still so strong, despite the weakness caused by his wounds— all along her own caused a shudder to wrack her. She whispered, "Thank you."

"For what?" Jon asked against her hair.

"For coming back to me," she said, breathless, trying not to sob, trying to maintain her composure.

"I'll always come back to you, Dany," he said gently, and then she did sob. "I owe you my thanks, as well."

"For what?"

"For still loving me."

There was tension in him, in how his body felt against her. He needed to hear it, she realized.

"I'll always love you," she breathed. "When we parted… when you tried to give me the cockade back, and I refused… I told you it was yours for all time, for now and forever. I meant my _heart_ , Jon, not some button with a bit of shabby lace on it."

He shifted away from her, just enough to slide his hand into his jacket, and withdrew the cockade she'd made for him so long ago. The metal of it was still flawless, of course, but the wool she'd crocheted was ragged and frayed and stained almost black from his blood.

"This was the only thing to keep me alive," he told her, "body and soul both, from the day I left Highgarden until this moment. It was the only proof I had that you were real. That I hadn't dreamed you. I would rub my thumb over it every night until I fell asleep; if it were regular steel, the dragons would have been smoothed away years ago.

"I used to believe I had imagined how beautiful you are. I didn't think it could be possible. I'd write to Robb and have him describe you, to see if I had embellished my memories, but every time, it was the same things: the spine of a dragon, the wit of the Grand Maester, and both tempered by a heart the size of an ocean."

He smiled again, wider this time.

"He also mentioned you were nice to look at."

Dany reeled backward against the seat, such was her astonishment. Her entire life, she had thought she brought two things to a marriage: a face and body to desire, and a pedigree to pass to her husband's descendants.

It was… alarming, at first, to think that those traits upon which she had depended, and which had been made such a fuss about for so long, were functionally useless, but… looks faded and bodies weakened, did they not? And what good was one's birth, really? Not one of those things was something she had earned or fought for. Not one of those things had any innate value.

She had told Jon, the day they met, that she was not most people.

She realized then, on the day they reunited, that Jon had never loved her as most men would have, not even at the beginning.

And did Dany not love him differently from most women, too? Jon's handsome face and the fitness of his anatomy had drawn her attention at first, but it was his gentleness and strength, his honesty and kindness and quiet dignity that had held it. Not once had she worried if his injuries had rendered him ugly; her sole concern had been for his survival, in whatever form or appearance.

"Touching as it is to watch you stare at each other," drawled Jaime, "my wench and I would like to do some staring of our own, perhaps in a more commodious setting."

Dany blinked and dragged her gaze from Jon to her friends; the carriage had stopped, its door opened, and Brienne and Jaime stood outside with not-very-patient expressions.

Jaime gestured toward the castle. "If you wouldn't mind?"

Jon left the carriage, one arm clasped tightly around his waist as he descended to the ground. Dany followed close behind, startled when she turned and found Podrick and the third man, Bronn behind her.

"Beg pardon, my lady," Bronn said, his bright blue eyes raking her with a bold glance before letting out a low whistle.

"That's Her Highness," said Pod in a tight voice, clearly affronted on her behalf. "One doesn't whistle at a princess."

"Just curious to see her, after all I've heard, aren't I?" Bronn answered, then grinned roguishly at her. "Which one are you in love with, then, Yer Highness? The letters make it sound like you was pinin' for the major, but the captain never shut up about "Dany, Dany, Dany" while he was feverish."

She blushed to hear that, her heart leaping in her chest. Not that she was pleased Jon had been delirious, never, but that he would call out for her… she had called out for him, too, when she had been unwell, after Viserys' passing. Tyrion had had to bribe her maid to prevent it from being known that the Targaryen princess was calling for the wrong man on her deathbed.

She glanced at Jon, feeling stupidly shy, and found him watching her, faint amusement in his eyes but a faint tinge of pink on his face. She turned and, sliding her hand into the crook of his elbow, followed Brienne and Jaime into the Hall.

"Podrick," she said crisply, tamping down her urge to yank Jon into one of the nearby rooms and fling herself into his embrace, "bring the duke's and the captain's things to the rooms that have been readied for them, and show Bronn to his lodgings, as well, if you please."

"Yes, Your Highness," Pod replied.

"A meal has been prepared for you, ser," she continued to Bronn. "Please know that Her Excellency and I are deeply in your debt for the care you have taken of His Grace and Captain Snow."

Bronn only gave her a smirky grin and sauntered off. Just before they went behind the green baize servants' door, she heard him say, "Still don't know which man she's after…" and Podrick's response of, "Don't you worry yourself about it, that's their business, not yours."

Jon swayed against her, suddenly. Dany lifted dismayed eyes to his face as her arms crept cautiously around his waist, offering whatever meager support she could.

"I'm fine," he said. "I just haven't stood this long since before I was shot."

"Shot _and_ stabbed, Bronn wrote," she corrected with gentle reproach, and began coaxing him toward the solar, his arm around her shoulders. In a way, it reminded her of their waltzes, and how she had placed herself under his direction, trusting him to lead her true and protect her. Now, she was leading and protecting _him_. It felt… right. Like they had come in a full circle, like an open loop had been closed. Just as he had cared for her, she would care for him. "Why did you not mention it?"

"You had enough to think and worry about, learning of Jaime's injury. And I thought I was fine, just some broken ribs. Everything seemed to be healing well, the first few days. It wasn't until later, after I had written to you, that the fever came."

He stopped once they were inside the solar. Brienne and Jaime were seated in matching armchairs pulled very close together by the fire, he slumped into her embrace with his head upon her shoulder with a complete lack of self-consciousness. They both looked up when Dany and Jon entered; Jaime offered a weary smile before closing his eyes, but Brienne just stared at Dany, her eyes wet.

Dany felt her friend's grief and distress like a physical blow, and tears sprang to her own eyes, as well. Jon's arm, around her shoulders, tightened.

"Where do you want to sit?" she asked him.

"There," he said, pointing to a wing chair on the far side of the room from the other couple, clearly wanting to give them as much privacy as possible.

…or gain as much privacy as he could for he and Dany, because after they'd shed their coats, he sat in the chair and tugged her down onto his lap.

"Jon!" she protested in alarm. "Your ribs, I don't want—"

"Being near you can only heal me," he said, and pulled her against him, tucking her head under his chin.

Dany relaxed against him slowly, with great care until she was sure her weight was not causing him distress or damage, but once she felt confident, she slumped in his embrace, all her nervous energy fleeing her with shocking speed, leaving her limp with relief. She pressed her face into his dark curls, relishing the strength in his arms as she held her.

"Your Highness," said Jaime, and Dany leaned just far back enough to see him and Brienne standing beside their chair. "Would you do me the kindness of releasing me from our engagement?"

"Done," she said promptly. "For what it is worth, Jaime, it was a fine engagement, as those go, and I hope we each only have one more before we're done with the practice entirely."

He smiled. "As do I. Thank you, Dany. For everything you have done for us, all these years." He took her hand and placed a kiss on her fingers. "You have been the best of friends to Brienne and myself."

"It was my honor," she said, and meant it. "Without Jon, thinking him dead… helping you gave me a reason to continue. I think I would have given up long before, if not for you both."

Jon's arm tightened around her waist and she leaned in, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Should I fetch the ring?" Dany asked Jaime. "You'll want to give it to Brienne, though she won't wear it—"

She was cut off by Brienne's agreeing snort of contempt.

"No," said Jaime mildly, "I never expected her to. I might be mostly decorative, but I'm not _entirely_ stupid; I made sure my engagement token was something she'd actually value and use."

Dany's face lit with comprehension. "The sword!"

He nodded, his face adoring as he looked at Brienne, close at his side. Their heights, so nearly equal, permitted them to gaze directly into each others' eyes, and the expression in his eyes shouted as clearly as words that he considered her a miracle that occurred to him every single day. Dany would have blushed, feeling like an intruder, except she was positive she stared at Jon in the same exact way. And if she could not witness and show private emotions with these of all people, then who?

"Since you're now a free woman," Jon began, and Dany's stomach twisted into a solid knot of shocked joy, having some idea of what would come next. "I'd stand, or kneel, but then I'd have to put you off my lap, and I prefer you here."

His smile was a thing of pure sweetness, and she could only beam back at it, at him, his hand clasped between both of hers.

"I know I have little to offer you—"

"Do _not_ , Jon Snow," Dany began, her tone warning. "I will not let you—"

"—except a large and rather crazed family, a legitimate name, and an inexhaustible supply of affection—"

"Legitimate _what_?"

"When I told my father I intended to marry you, he began the process of petitioning His Majesty to legitimize me." He smiled. "So, Your Highness, as soon as the petition is granted, would you condescend to marry your humble, most devoted servant? I have longed for you to be my wife since the day I met you, and if I have to wait much longer, I might run mad. Oh, Dany, don't cry."

His fingers were gentle as he brushed the tears from her cheeks.

"I adore your large and crazed family," Dany sniffled. "I love you more than I can find the words to express. I've been mad for you since the day we met. I don't care if you are legitimate, or if we ever marry, as long as you let me remain at your side always."

He drew her into the most luscious kiss, then, tender and loving and shockingly thorough, leaving her breathless and gasping, heat streaking down her limbs, when he pulled away.

"It shall take some doing, imagining myself as Mrs. Stark, when all these years I've been thinking of the title of Mrs. Snow," Dany murmured. "Shall we live at Winterfell? Are you leaving the military? If you remain with it, I shall follow the drum, the pipe, the entire band— I won't be parted from you again, Jon."

When he did not answer right away, she lifted her head from his shoulder to look first at him, then at Jaime, with whom Jon had locked eyes.

"About that," said Jaime, "we've had much time to talk, and we thought perhaps there might be a tidy way to handle several problems at once."

He sat in the chesterfield across from them, tugging Brienne down by his side.

"Once Brienne makes an honest man of me," Jaime began, startling a laugh from that lady, "we will have to spend most of our time at Casterly Rock, leaving Tarth without a staunch defender against the pirates that harry its shores. Tyrion and I have discussed the need for a militia outpost here— he has long felt it unreasonable for Tarth to be responsible for its own defense, when few other parts of the kingdom must do the same. He has broached the subject with His Majesty, who agrees that it is a sound plan.

"Thus we want Jon— soon to be Major Snow, or Stark, as the case may be— deployed to Tarth as leader of the new militia to be stationed here," he concluded, grinning at Jon's expression of shock. "I've discussed it with Jon already, and he has agreed to do it."

"I agreed to do it as _Captain_ Snow. What's this about being a major?"

"You were shot dashing across the desert like a wild man to save me, Jon," Jaime reminded him patiently. "Then, even with four broken ribs, and bleeding like a stuck aurochs from being stabbed, you went out, day after day, to fetch supplies for everyone else—"

"I was the only one who could blend in with the Ghiscari," Jon muttered, embarrassment causing a very pretty pink flush to wash over his cheekbones.

"—and then led the entire group back to base camp, carrying your insensible commanding officer on your back at one point, if I am recalling correctly in spite of my delirious state at the time," Jaime continued, his tone arid. "It was your insistence on doing all of these things that caused your condition to worsen, not any of that shite about dirty hospital conditions— you think I do not know what you are telling people— so yes, I have put in a formal recommendation for your promotion.

"Bronn and the rest of the men in our little group have joined their voices to my own, in fact, and Tyrion has been gleefully bullying the Lord Commander about it for the past two weeks. It's very likely you'll become a major around the same time you become a Stark, in fact."

"So we would live here, on Tarth?" Dany asked. "Permanently?"

"Would you like that?" Jon asked her. "If you would not, I won't accept the position. My commission is at its end, and I can easily leave it if you don't wish to be a military wife."

"I would like it above all things!" she exclaimed. "Tarth is the closest place I've ever had to a home!" She beamed at Brienne. "We were never made so welcome as here, and I gained a sister." She reached to take her friend's hand, and they smiled at each other, a little tearfully. "It would be my honor, to live here and protect Tarth for Brienne."

"Then it's settled." Jaime looked relieved and pleased, though still tired. "As soon as the banns are called, wench, we shall be married. I'd send for a special license but I need the three weeks to look like my handsome self again, instead of this half-corpse I appear now."

"And it will take at least that long for Tyrion to get here," Brienne said, "for we cannot marry without him."

"And then, as a proper married lady, you shall be a fine chaperone for our journey north, for Jon's father would burst into tears if we were not wed at Winterfell," Dany said.

He blinked. "You know this for a fact, do you?"

"Oh, yes, your father and I are quite friendly," she told him casually, biting back a grin at his incredulity. "I correspond with him and the rest of your family very faithfully. It is Robb's doing; first was Sansa, then your other siblings, and finally His Grace, who is a darling of a man, and so proud of you, quite rightly. Most of our letters are just us exclaiming back and forth to each other how wonderful we find you."

"That… is very embarrassing," he muttered. He was blushing again. Dany wished her friends far away, or at least out of the room, so she could enjoy another of those deep kisses he was so delightfully good at.

It came sooner than she had thought, for Jaime soon expressed a wish for a saltwater bath in the huge tub Brienne had had constructed for his use, and Dany and Jon were left alone in the solar. They spent some time simply holding each other, murmuring, then subsiding, but soon enough he kissed her, and it deepened until their gasps fell cool against damp lips and Jon was wincing at how their exertions were taxing his injuries.

"We're going to be so happy, Jon, aren't we?" she whispered. "We've earned it, by now."

"We have," he confirmed. "That and more."


	11. Chapter 11

Author's Note: This is it! Thank you so much for reading and commenting along the way.

I've put a list of who had which children, and which parent's traits they inherited, at the end because I always enjoy that and thought youall might as well. Also, if you're interested in seeing a bit of a family tree I put together to show who marries whom, please visit aich tee tee pee colon slash slash farm5 dot staticflickr dot com slash 4495 slash 37497220141_01b9991b2d dot jpg (jesus, this site makes it impossible to share URLs).

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Saturday, 20 June 1837

Evenfall Hall, Tarth, Stormlands

Dearest Brienne,

Warmest felicitations on the birth of your first grandchild! Do you feel desperately old, now? Gawen is a fine name for the future Duke of the North. Does he have the look of you or Jaime, or is he more Robb or Jeyne? I am all eagerness to know. Jaime must be bursting with pride.

I, too, have excellent news. When you sent Galladon here to begin learning about the governance of Tarth, I had hoped— prayed— that something like this might occur, and now that it has, I have begged him to permit me the honor of sharing the news with you.

My dear, we are soon to be family in a closer way than the distant relation we became when your Joanna married Robb's Jon: Galladon has asked our Briony to be his wife. However excited and pleased you think I am, pray double it, or more, because I have not stopped weeping happily since they told us. Nor has Jon, though he does still try to hide how soft is his heart, the darling man.

Briony has loved him since they were both still in nappies, of course, but Galladon never seemed to view her as anything more than a sibling or cousin. I suppose being apart for several crucial years, during which she grew into her looks— and Brienne, what a lovely creature my daughter is, all ravishing dark eyes and curls, I am quite jealous that she is all Jon and not a bit of myself— was what Galladon needed to realize that they are as destined for each other as Jon and I, and you and Jaime.

Now if only our Ned can fall in love with your Rohanne, and your Jason with our Lyanna, our two families shall be woven together for all posterity. Although the last time we were all together at Winterfell, I recall Jason daring to make eyes at Sanya. Her father is even more protective of his youngest daughter than he was of the others, which is… more than daunting, to say the least. Think you Jason is stalwart enough to withstand the challenge? He's near as tall and fit as Sandor, and 35 years younger, but my esteemed goodbrother has lost none of his fierceness over the years. I give them equal odds.

Now, lest you worry about where we shall go, once Galladon and Briony are married and wish to settle here at the Hall, you should know that Robb has gotten Her Majesty to create Jon the Baron of Flintcliff. Jon doesn't give a fig, of course, about a title and initially fought Robb when he suggested it, but came to see the benefits to Ned, giving him something to inherit eventually. It's a nice little manor on the southern shore of Cape Kraken, poised on a cliff just as Casterly Rock is, and has a dock from which I fully intend to sail to Lannisport at least once a year to visit with you. I shall expect you both on that dock, visiting from your own home, at least as often.

Jon will be leaving the military, and just in time, because certain personages have been muttering, of late, of making him the Lord Commander. Alas for them, the very idea wearies him to the point of stupor, so this is all timed very providentially. He and I are very excited to embark on this next stage of our life, and to be closer to his family in the North, nicely situated between Winterfell and Casterly Rock, in fact.

Jon wishes to sign his name to this letter, as well, to show his support for the union between Briony and Galladon, as well. I am near to bursting with joy and cannot wait to see you again.

With much love and fondness,

Princess Daenerys Stark, Baroness of Flintcliff

General Jon Stark, Baron of Flintcliff

P.S. Jaime, I will put a golden dragon on Jason, in the event of such a clash of titans coming to pass, and promise another to pay the maester for setting Jason's broken bones after Sandor gets done with him. —Jon

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Robb & Jeyne

Eddara - red hair, blue eyes

Jon - dark hair and eyes = Gawen - golden blond, brown eyes

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Jaime & Brienne

Joanna - golden blonde, blue eyes = Gawen - golden blond, brown eyes

Galladon - light blonde, green eyes

Rohanne - golden blonde, green eyes

Jason - light blond, blue eyes

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Jon & Dany

Ned - dark hair, violet eyes

Lyanna - dark hair and eyes

Briony - light hair, dark eyes

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Sandor & Sansa

Robben - dark hair, blue eyes

Minisa - red hair, gray eyes

Brynden - red hair, blue eyes

Eddon - dark hair, gray eyes

Sanya - red hair, gray eyes


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